Pause
by TMBlue
Summary: Mid-DH. Ron and Hermione begin to reconcile in the days following Ron's return, as Harry preoccupies himself with his growing obsession over the Deathly Hallows.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** This came about from me trying to work on the second part of a pretty disturbing fic I wrote earlier this week called **I (Don't) Need You**. In _ t _he process of trying to get through the second half, I had to jump into a new doc and expel some hurt/comfort, during the same general era (DH tent days). This story will actually be in the neighbourhood of 5 chapters long, maybe a bit more... I have already written chapter 2 and will try to update this one once a week until it's done. It's flowing very easy for me right now._

 _In the midst of my frenzy, I have also been opening and closing documents for Thieves and two other WIPs, so... some small progress? Thank you for your patience, and I promise I haven't abandoned them! It just takes a fairly specific vibe to be able to write them well, and I don't want to wimp out of making them (at least close to) what they are inside my head!_

 _Hope you enjoy this bit of talky fluff. I have written post-locket Ron quite a few times, but (realistically) they've (R/Hr) got to get a lot of the talk out before some of the fluffier, comforty bits in the next few chapters :)_

* * *

 **Pause**

 **Chapter 1**

There was a howling wind outside, brittle trees unbending in its wake. Inside, canvas blocked the brunt of the chill from them, but it didn't quite keep it from gently creeping in.

Tea was on, kettle hovering over the wood stove. Ron sat alone, flipping through notes Hermione had made while he'd been gone. He reckoned it might take weeks to finish reading them, but he was determined to catch up as soon as he could. After their near-miss at Lovegood's, they needed to regroup.

He heard Hermione's light coughing from the loo behind him, and he paused his reading, lifting bloodshot eyes to stare forward. His help had been generally unwanted, though it didn't stop him trying.

The kettle whistled, and he stood, pouring two steaming cups of weak Earl Grey. He sniffed, remembering how she'd once confessed she thought a bit of milk made tea more comforting, a luxury they didn't have. They'd not seen such extravagances in ages. Except he'd-

He recalled Bill offering plates of pies and some dish Fleur had made with hollandaise, as he'd sat with them, silent, on Christmas Eve. But he'd not felt up to it, in spite of his selfish, petty words before he'd left...

He suddenly heard Hermione shuffling around behind the flap that separated the loo from the rest of the tent, and she emerged, hair curled in long, wet ringlets, shirt sticking to her damp back. She ignored him as she approached the table, her notes sprawling to fill every available space.

"Here," and he took two steps toward her, offering one of his prepared cups of tea.

"Oh," she said, tucking a clump of hair behind her ear before taking the cup from him, oddly careful not to touch him.

She shivered, and his eyes darted down her body and back up again. He clobbered down his need to blush, clearing his throat as she took a small sip of tea. Her eyebrows shot up.

"Where did you get this?"

"Stole it from Bill."

Her eyes found his before lowering her awed gaze to her tea again.

"You stole my favourite tea from your brother."

"Yeah."

She glanced back up at him, one more time, expression mostly unreadable. But her pupils shined a little more brightly in the lantern light.

"That's..." she started, but she shook her head, evidently set on saying nothing more about it.

She took another slow sip of tea, the fluttering of her eyelids his only indication of her emotions.

"I should sort these," she muttered, after another moment, gesturing toward the notes in uneven stacks littering the tabletop. She set down her cup and reached for a loose pile.

"I've got it," Ron said, abandoning his own cup. "Was gonna read through everything I missed anyway, while Harry's outside."

She sighed slowly.

"You're taking second watch again?" she asked, edgily.

"Thought I might."

Though he couldn't imagine her concern for his sleep schedule was genuine, he'd noticed her persisting in questioning him about it over the last few evenings, since they'd come back from Lovegood's.

"No point trying to stop you," she sighed, shivering again. "You'll do what you want anyway."

"What?"

"Nevermind. I'm going to bed. Don't shuffle everything out of order..." and she picked up her tea, turning her back on him to retreat across the tent to her bunk.

He stood still for several long moments after she'd walked away, contemplating her words... remembering with a painful stab to his chest what she'd tried to do, the night he'd gone...

She'd tried to stop him. She'd screamed for him. He'd heard her. And he'd ignored her.

Gathering every stray bit of courage and determination he could find, he left his work and walked softly across the tent, into the shadowy bedroom space on the other side. She'd charmed her hair dry, but she was lying on her side, facing the canvas wall. Still shivering.

"You're freezing."

She jolted, startled by his presence.

"I'm fine."

"No... you're not."

She tucked her knees a bit higher up toward her chest, blankets bunched at her neck.

"Stop being perceptive and go away."

He ignored her - wasn't this the exact behaviour he was trying to quit? - and sat on the tent floor, next to her bunk.

"I should've listened to you, and I swear I regretted it the second I'd Disapparated, but I couldn't-"

"I know. You told me before."

"Okay. But..." She was right, really. What else could he do to prove it to her? How sorry he really was... "Hermione."

He knew the answer, if he was being honest. But could he be _that_ bloody honest? He had to try.

"The locket told me you didn't want me here."

Silence engulfed them for a few seconds before she rustled under her blankets, turning her head slightly but not facing him fully.

"What do you mean it 'told you'?"

"It… wouldn't let me stop thinking it. Made it real."

She turned the rest of the way over, blankets falling away from her neck.

"It's still not an excuse," he added quickly, propping his forearms across his bent knees, "but I would never have ignored you like that if it hadn't... fucked with me. First night I got to Bill's, I had a nightmare I could hear you crying and begging me not to leave."

Her eyes narrowed a bit, and he felt sure she was about to snap something back, as she had been doing every time he'd tried to talk to her about what he'd experienced. But, to his surprise, she said nothing this time.

"I thought you needed to know," he continued, urged on by her silence, "even though it doesn't make it any better. I really convinced myself - with the damn Horcrux's help - that you'd rather be shot of me."

"That's ridiculous," she huffed, pushing up on her elbow to glare at him.

"Is it?" he asked, lifting a sceptical eyebrow.

"You can't still think that way now..."

"I don't. But... it didn't feel like much of a stretch, at the time."

"You keep saying it like you mean just me... _I_ wanted you gone. Is that how you felt?"

"It's... complicated with us, innit. But no, it wasn't just you."

"Complicated..."

She sat up the rest of the way, palm pressed to her cot, and he could see the gooseflesh pimpling her skin, all the way up her bare arm.

"D'you want my sleeping bag?"

She averted her eyes from his, picking at a loose wool thread.

"Don't know why my heating charms aren't working..."

"Got a cold, maybe?" he asked, concerned. "Heard you coughing earlier."

She sniffed, and a fat tear splashed down her cheek. He'd maybe expected her to row with him again, maybe tell him once more to leave her alone, but not this. What was he doing to her?

"What'd I say?" he asked sadly, dropping his arms from his knees to lean in a bit closer.

"Nothing." She wiped her hand across her face. "But you don't... you don't know how it felt, for me. And now that you're back..."

She shook her head, and he shifted to sit up on his knees, scooting closer to the rusty metal frame of her bed.

"I can't tell you," she said quickly, as if fending off a question he hadn't asked. "I can't explain it to you."

This close, he could see a disconcerting tinge of cool blue in her parted lips. Without asking, he tugged his arms out of the jumper he was wearing, pulling it over his head and reaching out to hand it to her.

She met his sad eyes with her own before she finally moved, cold fingers wrapping partly around his as she took the offered jumper from him.

"Why are your hands so warm?"

"Are they?"

"Yeah..."

She gathered his jumper in her lap as he watched her, speaking before he had the chance to think.

"Lemme see your arms."

She stared up at him, confused, but she complied, a bit to his surprise, and held her arms out toward him. Before he could stare too long, he reached up and wrapped both of his hands around her wrists, scooting closer and up onto his knees. Noticing her body tense slightly, he briefly questioned the wisdom of this gesture… but it was a little too late for that now.

Long fingers gripping her lightly, he slid his hands up her arms to her biceps, back down again. She closed her eyes and breathed through her mouth.

He did it again, watching her swallow.

"Better?" he asked hoarsely, but her only response was a heavy nod of approval.

He probably shouldn't even consider it, but if he just moved up a little further this time, over her shoulders…

He found both hands suddenly on the sides of her neck, feeling her rapid pulse against his left palm. He was so close to her face, inches apart, and with her eyes fluttering behind closed lids, he _could_ stare.

Until two round pupils were suddenly fixated on his.

He dropped his hands from her neck straightaway, unable to avoid the blood rush to his face this time.

She cleared her throat, looking down at the large jumper in her lap.

"Thanks," she said softly, "for this." And, without looking at him again, she ducked her frizzy head and tugged wool over her neck, disappearing in way too much fabric. It billowed out from her chest and stomach, hands vanishing up the too-long sleeves.

"Any time," he managed in a raw voice.

* * *

He was down to the final quarter hour of Harry's watch. He knew he probably should have at least attempted a nap, but he'd focused his slightly burning eyes on pages and pages of Hermione's delicate handwriting, and it hadn't seemed worth moving. Now, he thought he'd take a moment to find another jumper and maybe his cloak, expecting the icy air outside to be too much for him in his t-shirt and jeans, hours on end.

Truthfully, he wasn't likely to wake Hermione for her shift in three hours, no matter how apprehensive he was about the near-hundred percent chance she'd shout at him about it over breakfast...

He quietly made his way toward his bunk, in search of his rucksack. A delicate wheeze broke the relative silence and he turned to glance at Hermione, twisted up in blankets and his jumper. He swallowed hard, a little dazed by the sight of her sleeping in his clothes. But her right leg was hanging out from under her covers, a bit of ankle exposed between her sock and pyjamas.

She stirred again, mumbling something, forehead creased.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, he knelt by her bed, reaching for her blanket to tuck it back over her leg. But his hand found her ice cold toes, thin sock almost feeling damp from the chill. And it might have been her position, in the dark, where he was unable to see her face. But he felt strangely calm as he squeezed his hand around her small foot, holding it still as he sat there, leaning against her bunk as sleet began to patter against the canvas walls...

He'd only dropped his head back for a second, surely…

"Ron?"

Harry's voice might have been coming toward him through thick fog. But it registered somehow, and Ron's eyes cracked open.

He blinked up at a pair of spectacles, dark green eyes behind them. His hand had lost its grip, now resting lightly on Hermione's shin.

"Sorry," he mumbled, straightening up. "Don't think she's feeling well."

"Oh?" Harry's curious face morphed toward concerned.

Ron stood, forcing Harry to change the direction of his gaze to accommodate Ron's height.

"Not serious. Don't think so, anyway. I'm taking her shift."

"Did you sleep?" Harry asked, slowly blinking his own tired eyes.

"M'alright."

"I'll just have a short kip and come join you-"

"Don't worry about it," Ron interrupted, reaching for his rucksack, tugging out a fresh jumper. And he made for the tent flap without waiting for an argument.

"Ron?" Harry called, and he paused, having almost escaped. "Wake me if you need a break."

But he waved Harry away and ducked outside.

* * *

He'd reached a state of lulled tranquility. Much further into pre-dawn, and he might start questioning his response time. As it was, he twitched a bit late at the sound of a pair of trainers crunching frozen leaves behind him.

Gazing up through pale eyelashes, he took in the sight of her silhouette, wrapped to her shoulders in a blanket as she crouched to sit next to him.

"Hey," he said, bracing for her attack about leaving her to sleep nearly two hours past the start of her watch...

"Hey." She settled a foot away from him, sniffing.

His ears were ringing, listening for her steady breathing as they stared forward into the barren woods, and no more words came. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders, finally turning to glance at his profile.

"What else did it tell you?" she asked, voice almost lost in the cold air between them.

He turned to meet her eyes, licking his lips, not quite following her question.

"What'd you mean?"

"The locket."

And he realised, immediately. He should have known his confession earlier would lead her to a million new considerations, curiosities.

"Doesn't really matter. S'over now."

"Ron."

A shudder ran through him, the way she'd said his name, echoing near exactly the tone of voice that had called out to him from his pocket, on Christmas morning.

"I _knew_ it," she pressed on, not waiting for him to answer her. "After you left, I was wearing it late one night, and I felt this sort of… hopelessness. Is that what you felt?"

"Not exactly."

She wasn't going to leave this alone, and it was his fault, really, for starting a conversation he didn't want to finish. He knew he could push back, and she'd eventually drop it, but he somehow wanted to do that even less than he wanted to talk about it. He was standing on thin ice, with her even exchanging more than a few terse words with him.

"It wanted me to feel… isolated," he finally said. "It found thoughts I'd had that I sort of knew were rubbish, deep down, and it made me ask myself if maybe they _were_ true, after all."

He'd barely paused to gather his next words when she questioned him.

"What thoughts?"

He could skirt around the edges of this, he reckoned, and still tell her the truth.

"I'd be worried about something, and it would convince me you and Harry didn't care. Like when we found out about the sword… You and Harry thought it was such a bloody good breakthrough, and all I could think was how Ginny was in danger, and we couldn't help her."

"But… of _course_ we cared about her-"

"I know, but the ruddy locket didn't want me to feel that way, did it. It's like… it took the words you would say and the little things you did and made me focus on the worst possible interpretation. On a normal day, I can just… get rid of those thoughts and realise I'm either overreacting or focusing on the wrong thing… or that it doesn't matter if it's not exactly what I want anyway."

"Doesn't matter?" Her eyes creased at the edges as she studied him, searching for more than he was explaining clearly. But he moved on, hoping to avoid getting too specific.

"Reckon it did the same to you, in a way, only your fears aren't the same as mine. Made you doubt your abilities and think we couldn't make it…"

"I didn't notice as much before you left… but, I see what you mean."

She avoided his eyes for a moment, and he suspected that she, too, hadn't quite said all that was on her mind.

"Anyway, I'm sorry-"

"I _do_ know a bit about what you felt," she cut over him, ignoring his attempt at yet another apology. "It's not exactly… comfortable, out here. Quite miserable, actually."

"Not miserable now. And anyway, not as bad as I felt at Bill's, nowhere close. I mean… yeah a real bath'd be nice, Hogwarts food, chocolate frogs… Quidditch…"

He'd actually made her smile, as slight as it was. His heart flipped over a bit as he smiled back.

"-but, I'd rather be with you than anywhere else… and _Harry_ , obviously…"

He cleared his throat, wondering just how many more times he could make a passable attempt at deflecting away from sharing a bit more than he'd planned… Her lips parted slightly as she stared at him, and he felt his face warm considerably, even as a gust of cold wind blew through their clearing.

"I didn't think you were coming back," she said in a tiny voice. "And… and _that's_ why I felt so hopeless." She sniffed, turning her gaze out toward the tree line. "Ron… I didn't _want_ to go on without you. Neither did Harry."

He considered her choice of words, judging how she could so easily have thought all the wrong things about how it had been, those weeks, away from her. And he'd tried to explain, but those had been the practical things and his dedication to the mission. He'd been waylaid, _unable_ to return. But what about the rest?

"Why didn't you think I'd come back?"

She scoffed at him, tucking her blanket tighter around her shoulders.

"How _could_ you have? After that first night, I knew that was it. And if… if you'd _wanted_ to, straightaway… well, you'd had several hours to do it. But... you didn't. Then we moved the tent, and I delayed as long as I could, but… we had to go, and I knew you'd never find us."

"You thought, for weeks, that I was _glad_ to be gone?"

"I don't know what I thought. Sometimes, I'd be so angry with you that I could hardly _read_. And other times… I'd calculate how long I could be gone, just to check… see if I could rationalise talking Harry into giving me the cloak and letting me have one night alone - an _hour_ , even - to make sure you weren't… to know you were safe."

He took in a short breath, shaking his head.

"You were worried?"

"Of course I was bloody worried!"

Her eyes narrowed, flashing up at him.

"But I couldn't have done it, really," she continued, sighing. "I couldn't leave Harry on his own, couldn't risk us both being exposed if we left together, and neither of us ever discussed it. All I could do was focus on the anger instead and try to move us forward."

She paused, chewed her lip, staring out at the trees again.

"And I didn't even know if you wanted to come back."

"Every second, I-"

"I know that now," she breathed, cutting over him, much softer eyes turning back to face him. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm still so… Ron, _why_? Why did you _listen_ to the bloody Horcrux, instead of me?"

And he found that he couldn't really answer her. It all seemed so muddy and distant and _other_ , now. Why had he let the sodding locket take over? Why couldn't he have been _stronger_?

"Dunno," he said quietly, sending as many more apologies as he could manage through his tired eyes.

She studied him for a moment, finally nodding slowly and gathering her blanket around her shoulders again, trembling.

"I know it wasn't all your fault. I think I'd have admitted it sooner, if I didn't care so- if… if you weren't my f-friend." Her teeth chattered, the only thing distracting him from the pounding of his heart.

"Go back inside, Hermione. Only got about an hour left til dawn."

"Can't sleep," she explained, clearing her throat. "I'll start breakfast."

She stood, crunching icy leaves and twigs as she headed back toward the tent entrance. He rubbed his cold hands together, glancing forward into the inky dark pre-dawn.

"Oh, and Ron?"

He turned again to look up at her, over his shoulder. She was glaring fiercely down at him, but something made his heart jump pleasantly, a tiny, spirited spark in her expression that he'd missed so much.

"Hm?"

"If you let me sleep through my shift again, I'll find a very creative new way to hex you."

But her threat fell pretty soft in contrast with his grin.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Wait, I don't actually have anything to say. I hope you like it? :D_

* * *

A light snowfall had picked up by mid-afternoon. They'd apparated north, now in search of a secluded space to set up camp, having discounted the first spot they'd tried as much too rocky. He'd been walking behind her, socks getting soggy from muddy slush melting with each step, and her hood had slipped down from her head, flakes of snow falling in dead silence to slowly melt in her frizzy, brown curls.

It might have been because he hadn't slept, but the day felt oddly surreal, as if the world had forgotten it was at war. He could almost imagine they weren't out here hiding, that time itself had frozen with the rivers and lochs.

She turned to glance at him over her frosted shoulder, as she had done every few minutes for quite a while now, and he oddly suspected she had to be sure he was still there...

He took two quick strides to catch up, walking beside her then, her nose quite pink, breathing from chapped lips. Ice cracked lightly beneath her footfalls, and she clutched his arm, wordlessly.

"What about there?" Harry suggested, indicting a spot just beyond the narrow valley they had entered.

"Looks alright, yeah," Ron said, when Hermione remained silent, letting go of him to shift the strap of her bag higher up her shoulder. "Next time, we go someplace tropical," he added to her, tugging up the corner of his mouth in a half-grin as she suppressed a smile, following Harry.

* * *

It wasn't long before they'd set up camp, and Harry had told them without chance for argument that he was sleeping through the evening, in order to be rested enough to take an extra shift overnight. Ron had barely been able to keep his eyes open through starting a fire, which had most likely been the final straw prompting Harry's suggestion. Hermione had found a cozy spot on the floor to read, as the sun fell slowly behind the white hills around them. And Ron had tried to skim through notes as Harry slept, but he was retaining approximately zero percent of the information he was reading, so he gave it up, slumping down on the sofa, eyelids slipping shut.

"Wish we could get his mind off the bloody Hallows…" Hermione scowled, furiously flipping to the next page in the giant tome she was browsing, and Ron cracked open an eye.

"Yeah, good luck," he sighed, and she lifted her gaze to meet his, shaking her head.

"It feels like a race now - you and I with Horcruxes, Harry with Hallows. He's becoming obsessed, Ron."

He studied her expression, sleeves of her jumper tugged halfway down her pale hands as she gripped the book in her lap.

"Well… we'll just have to outsmart him," he said, smiling. "Which means _you'll_ outsmart him, and I'll back you up."

Her furrowed brow softened… but then she wrinkled her nose, sucking in a breath before she sneezed. He lifted both eyebrows and blinked at her.

" _Fine_. I've got a _cold_ ," she admitted, sliding a spare sheet of parchment between two worn pages and shutting her book with a thud.

"Yeah. I know," he said pointedly, half-grinning at her. She rolled her eyes and brushed book dust from her jeans, untwisting her legs and standing.

He straightened up and blinked more awake, suppressing a yawn.

"Can I interest you in watered down broth?" he asked cheekily as he stood. "Heard it's a delicacy."

"Actually," she said, following him to the kitchen, "I think there's a packet of biscuits left at the bottom of my bag. Probably crushed a bit… likely stale…"

"Stale biscuits? My favourite," and he arrived at the stove, levitating a covered saucepan over the flame and turning around to lean back against the table.

"Do you still _remember_ what good food actually tastes like? I think I've forgotten-" but she cut herself off abruptly, face suddenly dropping quite seriously.

Now nearly unreadable, a wall was back.

"But then you've only been back a week. Almost slipped my mind…" she added, at a near-whisper, the lightness that had somehow developed between them softly fading to nothing again as she turned away.

"I didn't…" He paused, scraping a hand across his jaw. He wouldn't have offered this information unprovoked. "I wouldn't eat with them."

"What?" she inquired somewhat distractedly as she reached for her bag, shoving a hand down inside and rummaging.

"At Bill and Fleur's. They tried to…" He shut his eyes for a minute, wondering if he'd ever forgive himself enough to move on. But when he opened his eyes again, she'd paused her movements completely and was staring at him. "I hated myself for leaving. I kept thinking of- ...shit, of you and Harry carrying on without me."

He hunched forward a bit, finding an interesting spot on the canvas behind her to focus on.

"Didn't want to be comfortable."

The saucepan lid rattled behind him, and he broke his gaze with the wall, returning his attention to "supper."

His eyes had gone a bit blurry as he stirred their boiling broth. She'd been coming around, he'd thought, really seemed to want to understand him. But the truth was, the wedge was still there for her. It wouldn't be easy to forget, even if she forgave.

But then, quite suddenly, her arms slid under his from behind - circling his waist - and he tensed, startled. As he listened to his accelerating heartbeat, he felt her press her forehead to his back, very lightly, through his jumper. He had to do something - _anything_ \- but he was frozen, head to toe.

And then, she was leaving. A desperate lump leapt up to fill his dry throat.

"I think I'll shower first," she said, in a strangely shaky voice. "Harry'll be awake soon."

And as he listened to her receding movements, he released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

* * *

Hermione was climbing into her bunk by the time Harry went outside to take watch. A light wind was waving against their canvas walls, but the night was otherwise fairly silent and peaceful.

Ron crossed to his bunk and removed his sleeping bag, tossing it to the foot her of bed without speaking. She glanced down quickly before darting her eyes toward him.

"It's even colder here than last night," she finally said. "You need a blanket."

"Still got this," he pointed out, holding up his cloak before laying it out across his thin mattress.

"Oh, you'll be _toasty_ warm, then…"

He met her narrowed eyes and grinned. But she reached for his sleeping bag anyway, opening it and straightening it out over her bed as she crossed her legs to sit in the middle, facing him. He sat on his own bed, across from her, but she didn't seem particularly ready to fall asleep, and as tired as he was, he didn't want to miss time he could spend with her, alone…

He felt immediately self-conscious for his thoughts, despite her not being able to read his bloody mind.

"Oh!" she said suddenly, leaning over and reaching under her bed for something. She straightened up again with a slightly crumpled page in her hands. "Take a look at this."

Curiously, he slid out of bed, kneeling in front of her bunk as she held up what she had found. It was a moving photograph of herself, Ron and Harry, from possibly third year, judging by their appearances, he recalled distantly.

"Wow," he laughed, sitting up on his knees and leaning close to her lap to get a better look.

"Found it at the bottom of my trunk when I was packing over the summer. Forgot I'd put it in my bag til a couple of weeks ago when I found it again, while I was looking for something else."

"When was this?" Ron asked, thinking, watching as he threw an arm around Harry in the photograph, all three of them laughing about something. "That's your third year haircut, innit? What were we doing- oh, Hufflepuff Ravenclaw Quidditch, yeah?" A flash of blue passed by them in the photo, as a cluster of Ravenclaw girls headed somewhere off the edge of the frame.

"Third year haircut?" she boggled, and he felt her staring at him before he shifted his gaze from the picture to her shining eyes.

"Yeah, Harry's hair covered half his ears and yours did that thing in the back where it was a little bit longer in the middle."

She blinked down at him.

"Are you serious? How do you remember that?!"

"Dunno, just do."

"What else do you remember?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly.

"I was a prat to Crookshanks that year."

She glared at him.

"Only Crookshanks?"

He feigned confusion, nodding slowly.

"Yeah…" he paused, pretending to think carefully, "can't think of anybody else-"

She slapped his arm quite hard, and he winced involuntarily. But he continued to suppress a grin, clearing his throat.

"Y'know, I never apologised to him properly. Should find the little git when we're back home and tell him I'm sorry, y'reckon?"

She rolled her eyes, but her expression was light and teasing.

"Can't say I'd mind overhearing _that_ conversation."

He grinned at her then, resting his elbow on her bed and propping his head in his hand.

"I've got a favourite memory from that year," he said in a sleepy voice.

"What?"

"Can't guess?"

She considered him for a moment.

"Saving Buckbeak, saving Sirius… winning the house cup?"

"Probably should be one of those," he laughed, "-blimey, that was a good year - but no. And anyway, I was stuck in the hospital wing while you and Harry traveled through bloody time, so…"

"Well," she sniffed, wrinkling her nose as if she was about to sneeze again, narrowly avoiding it, "what was it, then, your favourite memory?"

"You… slapping sodding Malfoy in the face."

She pressed her lips together but straightened up a bit, looking rather proud of herself.

"That was pretty good…" she said quietly, watching him raise his eyebrows.

"I think that's when-" he started, but then, he realised how close he was to forgetting. She didn't know the truth. How was it possible to be so comfortable with someone that he could almost tell her his most well-kept secret in a casual conversation, but the moment he started _planning_ how to tell her, later, his chest would clench tight and his words would fail him?

He'd been about to say that he'd started to see her differently, around that time, that year. Maybe that wasn't entirely true, but it felt like the right time to him, looking back. He'd never be so bold as to admit to himself that he actually fancied her, at fourteen, but he'd definitely felt something different then, something that had slowly twisted inside him for the next three years until he'd realised, gradually, that he was in love with her…

"That's when _what_?" she asked, having been waiting some time for the rest of his cut-off sentence.

"Hm?" and he managed to reasonably feign ignorance as he blinked slowly. "Forgot what I was on about."

He shifted his head in his hand, clearing his throat again.

"What's _your_ favourite memory from that year?" he added, deflecting. "Or did you already give me your list with Buckbeak and Sirius?"

But his distraction had worked, and they spent the next quarter hour reminiscing. It was almost bittersweet how easy it was to be themselves, in memories. He forgot to hold on to the little, nagging reminder that he'd hurt her, more than he'd imagined he ever could. And she forgot to hold back, no longer clipping off words at the end of tight sentences.

He'd lowered his head to his forearm, and her voice was washing over him gently, dim lantern light and softly pattering sleet against their tent...

* * *

"Ron?" she whispered, and he felt her hand on his arm, though he couldn't do it, couldn't open his eyes and find her gone, the world cold and his chest aching for what he'd done, no way back. "Ron?"

She shook him lightly, and he clenched his eyes tighter, heartbeat rapid against his ribs. She wasn't really there, he knew. And he couldn't face it.

"You're having a bad dream," she told him, so delicately, her fingers feather light on his skin.

And something clicked. He opened his eyes, finding the dark room blurry from crying in his sleep.

He was sitting on the floor, hunched over the side of her bed, head on his arm, right leg partially asleep and tingling from his position. And she was there, staring down at him, brow creased with genuine concern.

"What-" he started, lifting his head. "You're _here…_ you're…"

"Of course I am. You fell asleep on my bed."

But she didn't understand. Moments ago, he'd been lost, trudging infinitely through the woods in search of her… and Harry… desperate to find his way back to them, but losing every thread of hope that he ever would.

But the real world slowly slid back into place. He was _home_. He'd made it. And she didn't hate him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a sound between a laugh and a cry.

"You were dreaming you hadn't found us, weren't you."

"Yeah," he managed through an unsteady exhale.

She let go of his arm, and it was only then that he realised she'd still been holding on.

She seemed to make up her mind about something before she shifted, moving back to her pillow and adjusting blankets and his sleeping bag back over her body.

"Get in," she instructed, not looking back down at him. "You're shaking."

And he would have sworn he'd misunderstood her if she hadn't then scooted to the far edge of her bunk, turning onto her side with her back facing him, leaving a substantial space open for such a narrow bed.

He _was_ shaking, he realised, as his whole body fought for him to do as she had asked.

For a stretched moment, he was frozen, staring at her back, overwhelmed by remnants of his dream and her words. And then, he knew, he had to choose - do exactly what he wanted, what she'd asked him to do; or let the other side win, the side with a rusted chain, a heavy locket, reminding him in dreams of angry nights, jealousy, emptiness…

He stretched his leg, waking it up, and he gathered himself to his feet, sinking his knee into her mattress as he crawled into the empty space she'd left for him.

He could just fit, on his back, with his shoulder at the absolute edge. If he moved too quickly, in his sleep, he'd probably fall off altogether. She was absolutely still beside him, and he wondered if she'd already fallen asleep. He reached for the tail of a blanket she'd left loose, tugging it gently over his body, feet sticking out from the bottom as he floated in a place between heightened sensitivity and exhaustion.

And the part of him that still belonged to memories of possession wondered how she'd feel when she woke, later, to find him in her bed…

* * *

Warmth radiated from his left, a light pressure by his ear. And he couldn't move his left leg as easily as he could make sense of just yet.

Someone was breathing, beside him.

His arm tensed, and he turned his head a fraction to the left as he opened his eyes.

Hermione had flipped over, presumably in her sleep, and the tip of her nose was touching his ear, her warm breath wafting against his skin. Her hair had fallen partly over her shoulder, tickling his neck and upper arm. And her leg…

Her right knee was overlapping his left leg, piecing together the last bit of the puzzle of his current state, softly trapped under her. He tried very hard not to move an inch.

Her blankets had bunched on top of him, and he was actually a bit overheated, which could explain what had woken him in the first place. But he had no plans to do anything about it… until she sighed in her sleep, slowly moving her hand until her fingers wrapped around his bicep-

-and her eyes popped open.

Sucking in a breath, she backed a few inches away from him, glancing up to meet his eyes, startled.

"Sorry!" she said quickly, voice scratchy from lack of use.

"S'fine," he said immediately, flexing his toes. The movement drew her attention to her own leg, which was still partially overlapping his. She slid it away from him and dropped her gaze to his shoulder.

"I really hope I'm not contagious…"

But he shrugged, not actually minding in the least.

"I should probably check on Harry," he said, reluctantly.

"Yeah…"

But he didn't move, seemingly frozen in place.

"Hermione…"

But there was nothing he could say. The words tumbled over and vanished, and he cursed the way he was stuck, always one step behind where he wished he could be. But he turned to fully face her, catching her eyes a bit wide, searching.

And there was a moment, between them, when it didn't seem to matter that he didn't know what to say… before she broke their gaze, clearing her throat.

"Thank you, for staying."

He tried to surface from nerves and tension and _her_. But why would she say-

"What?" he asked, hoarsely.

"It's much warmer with… you know." She scooted the tiniest bit further away from him, nervously.

"Oh. Good."

His drumming heartbeat reminded him, insistently, that he was much too close. That if he didn't move, now, he might never do what he needed to do next. Harry had been out there, alone, for long enough.

"Sleep more if you want," he said, as he forced every muscle in his body to obey his commands, slowly sitting up and untangling blankets as he spoke. "Can't have been too long. I set an alarm. Hasn't gone off yet."

He swung his legs over the edge of the bad, standing and stretching and feeling his neck burn as he crossed to his bunk and picked up his watch. He heard her breathing slowly, behind him, so he chanced another glance, finding her eyes closed, hand curled on the pillow where he'd just been…

* * *

He breathed in icy air, closing his eyes for just a second, cooling down. Harry had gone inside quickly, shivering slightly and looking distracted. And now, Ron was left with deep darkness through glassy trees and the reflection of moonlight off snow-covered earth.

He'd just been sleeping in her bed. Because she'd _asked_ him to. Because she wanted him there. He probably had her cold - she'd been _breathing_ on him. It was an absolute miracle he hadn't embarrassed himself. And he began immediately planning how to do it again...


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:** I realize some of this goes a little farther than might be realistic for a story I'm still vaguely maintaining isn't AU yet, but damn, I just wanted Hermione to open up a little!  
_

* * *

They'd been working all day, Ron recording the news he'd heard on the wireless, Hermione spreading maps across the table so they had to eat sitting on the floor… and Harry, consumed by the Snitch, hardly letting it out of his sight…

"What do you think, Ron?" she asked, as Harry shuffled outside to get a small fire going, the frigid night air settling around them. She was hunched over their table, staring at something, moving the tip of her finger over creased paper.

He walked up behind her and glanced over her shoulder to where she was pointing, a spot at the far western edge of a faded map.

"Haven't been around there yet, have we. Seems good. And south… might be warmer."

"There's a small town not far away," she pointed out. "Maybe we could even risk going for supplies if we're careful! You've gotten really good at the charm for your hair."

His throat constricted slightly at her compliment.

"Cheers, but maybe we should practice transfiguration anyway if we think it's worth going. Bloody freckles sometimes show through."

But she shook her head, lost in her own thoughts as her face fell serious again.

"It's probably not worth it," she finally said, contradicting her own words from moments ago. "If we're caught again before we've got a real plan, we might not be as lucky as we have been."

He didn't want to agree, because it meant her momentary optimism would not remain, fading into the misty twilight with everything else. But she was probably right, and he sighed, running his hand through his shaggy hair and slumping down in the nearest chair.

"But… I think we can fish there," she added, sitting across from him and shuffling a small stack of books back into order.

"Y'know," Ron started, "Charlie's good at all that stuff… hunting, fishing, wilderness shit. Too bad he's not here to show us how to properly cook all the rubbish we've been attempting to call dinner."

"I'm trying," she said tiredly.

"Yeah, of course. I know you are. It's not your responsibility, anyway. I didn't mean-"

But he broke off, realising as she smiled slightly that she hadn't really taken offense, which was a bloody miracle, he thought, considering he'd nearly driven her mad before he'd left with his obnoxious complaints. At least she knew the difference between Ron with a splinched arm, a bit of Voldemort's soul in his mind, and the real Ron…

"But that's interesting about Charlie," she deflected. "Makes sense, considering his adventurous career choice."

"And what do you call _this_?" He gestured around the room to indicate the full scope of their current circumstances.

"Not a _career_ , that's for sure," she said, sighing.

"You know…" and he chewed his chapped bottom lip for a moment, contemplating, "I always assumed you'd do something different."

"Different than what?" she asked curiously, tucking a clump of hair behind her ear.

"Becoming an Auror."

Her eyes locked on his, studying.

"You're still set on that, then?"

He cleared his throat, a bit self-conscious.

"Thought I'd _try_ , yeah…" and he returned his attention to the map in front of him, for something to do… He'd not spoken to her much about the future, particularly since they'd started out on their own, this year. And he reckoned he had no idea what she thought-

"You'd make a brilliant Auror," she said quickly. "That's not what I meant…"

He glanced back up at her, wondering if he was imagining the rosy hint of blush that had coloured her cheeks.

"It's just…" she continued in a low voice, "it's dangerous."

"Reckon we're a bit used to that, by now…"

"That's my point," she said, twisting her fingers in her jumper sleeve somewhat nervously. "Part of it, at least… I know you want to do something important and meaningful, but… if we _do_ make it out of this, it might be nice to have a more peaceful life, to a certain extent, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, but that's _you_ talking. You'll have a hundred offers at your door the second we get home. You could do whatever you want-"

"No, I couldn't," she cut over him, emphatically. "I couldn't be an Auror."

"Why the hell not?" he asked, nearly snorting with incredulousness.

"I know it seems like I've got things under control, but you _don't_ know…"

She trailed off for a moment, exhaling and glancing away from him, focusing distantly on the wood grain of the tabletop.

"I know I'm good with research, and I can memorise text easily and connect things I've seen in books but… out here, I'm more afraid than you are. I'm doing this because it has to be done, and I love you both-" he held his breath "-and we're all in this together… but, if I'm choosing an activity for the day, I'd much rather be doing the 'research and report' bit without the 'fear for our lives' part…."

"I _know_ you aren't always in control."

Her eyes flashed up to meet his.

"Lovely."

"No, not like that…" He rested his forearms on the tabletop. "You're my best mates, you and Harry. I think I know you both pretty well."

"Better than anyone," she said, almost smiling.

He smiled slowly back.

"I just mean… I can tell when you aren't…" -but he paused, considering his words- "when you're anxious. But it makes you… dunno, better."

"How?" she asked, very sceptically.

"Dunno how to explain it. It's like what people say about bravery, how it's only really brave if you were afraid to do it in the first place."

The corner of her mouth twitched at his explanation.

"That's… a good point."

He shrugged, watching her expression change again as she seemed to recall something incomplete.

"But, what I was trying to say," she started again, "is that I think you're selling yourself short. You honestly think your best qualities are the ones you share with Harry? No wonder you keep comparing yourself to other people…"

"Oh, _that's…_ "

But he wasn't actually sure if he could muster up a complete sentence to argue with, all of a sudden. It wasn't exactly… wrong, what she was saying. Except for the part she was implying about him maybe being a bit _more_ than he thought he was.

"Just because you didn't care about top marks like I did, it doesn't mean..." she trailed off, quietly. "I'm trying to say that you don't have to get a million O.W.L.S. or defeat bloody You-Know-Who singlehandedly to be worth something."

He searched for the misunderstanding, rationalising there must be one. They'd been down this sort of path many times, looking for words between words and rowing back and forth about what they hadn't even really said to each other, out loud. Did she just _want_ him to be better, to work harder, make more of an effort? He could have done, sure, but… she had one bit spot on - he'd certainly never taken it half as seriously as she did, and he'd have been caught dead before spending a Saturday night revising. It had been, in fact, the last thing on his list of desired activities.

"You've been hacked off at me before for not taking things seriously, y'know," he pointed out, sanding any rough edges from his voice by reminding himself that she'd just been arguing that he wasn't giving himself enough credit.

"I was… maybe wrong, to say that to you."

He gawked at her for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

"No," he said. "You just wanted to help us be better."

"I don't want you to change."

This was new.

For years, he'd been alternating his thoughts between being annoyed at Hermione's persistent nagging and feeling slightly bad about himself for not trying harder like she wanted. It hadn't particularly encouraged him to change too much… but something about it had buried deep, and he often felt himself being a bit more inspired than he thought could be entirely self-motivated…

"I don't want you to change, either," he realised aloud, because if she stopped pushing him, a part of him would feel like maybe she didn't think he was worth the effort.

"Well, maybe I _should_ ," she sniffed, though her cheeks had flushed again at his words. "You're a lot more… open-minded than I am."

He flashed back to Xenophilius Lovegood's (truthfully) rather mad beliefs in things he had no proof were _not_ strictly true, as if being unable to discount them meant it made complete sense to believe them. Hermione had not made a very positive impression with him, to say the least.

"Thinking about what Lovegood said?"

Her eyes flashed to his and back away before she shrugged.

"Don't let him get to you, Hermione. It's rubbish to take anything to heart from a bloke who would turn in Harry after printing his support-"

"He was emotional about his daughter. Doesn't make him right, of course."

"No, it doesn't."

They stared at each other for a silent moment, Hermione's anxious eyes creased at the corners.

"We just don't do a very good job of telling each other what we really mean, do we," she said, a bit sadly. "I think I've been… a bit harsh, in the past. I don't want you to have the wrong impression. And maybe if I hadn't been so preoccupied before, you'd have known how important you were to- to me, and to Harry, and the bloody locket might not have had such an easy time convincing you to… to leave…"

He thought back over what she'd said about him, and it really sank in… they'd never talked like this before. He found that the gap between what he knew to be true and what she had said today was maybe a bit wider than he'd known.

"Look," she pushed on, "what do you think about _me_?"

"You're brilliant," he answered instantaneously. "A genius, really."

"Well," she said, slightly belittling her own point by blushing proudly again at his compliment… "some people would call it something else."

"What?"

"Know-it-all comes to mind."

He scoffed at her, almost rolling his eyes as if someone was currently in the room right then, with them, calling her names.

"That's just arseholes being ignorant, my younger self included…"

"You've just proved my point, thank you," and she crossed her own arms to match him.

He furrowed his brow, not following her anymore. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed, narrowly avoiding a sneeze.

"What?"

"I just… I'm not very good at this. You know I'm not."

"Not very good at what?"

His heart was hammering oddly, like she was on the precipice of some big revelations he wasn't quite understanding.

She closed her eyes, and he noticed how red her nose was, lips parted to breathe, forehead creased… and he distractedly wondered if she had a headache.

"I'm selfish," she said, opening bloodshot eyes to look at him again. "All we do is worry about Harry. And then… you were gone… and it really hit me that… that I could lose either one of you, at any moment."

"That's not selfish…"

"It is, but nevermind."

He wanted her to say so much more. But it was late, and cold, and the lantern light had dimmed to almost nothing… and she was sniffing again, making another futile attempt to tuck curls behind her ears. And all the words he truly wanted to say back were ones that existed far, far beyond what she'd already said tonight. This, _now_ \- they were still here, in the space they'd occupied for a while, between friendship and something else. Did she have any idea how _much_ else he wanted? Fear drove back between them, and he cleared his throat.

"We should get some sleep, before Harry's watch is up."

She nodded and stood, and the wide neck hole of her jumper slid over to expose her shoulder. She shivered, tugging it back up in place again as she reached for her bag. And was he mistaken, or had he seen her lip tremble, as she ducked her head, hair curtaining around her face?

She sniffed. Then sniffed again. And he was suddenly sure she was crying.

But he couldn't connect a reason, watching her pause in the midst of gathering her toothbrush and comb to sniff again and duck her head further forward.

"Hermione-"

But she straightened, abruptly, wiping her jumper sleeve across her face. And he saw her clearly now, tear tracks staining her angry cheeks.

"I _told_ you that you didn't know how it was for me, while you were gone. Well, you really _don't_!"

"Then tell me," he said, feeling overwhelmingly sorry all over again for what he'd put her through. He stood, too cautious to risk moving closer, but at least she was looking at him again.

"It felt…" and she closed her eyes, shaking. "It honestly felt like part of _me_ was gone."

His throat went very dry, and he wished he could say something back, but it seemed, once again, nearly impossible to match her words with anything of significance. She continued before he'd had a chance to think too much about it anyway.

"Whenever Harry's been…" she said, hitching a breath, "brooding or preoccupied, it would just be us… you and me. I didn't realise how…"

She paused, eyes lost and drifting away from him.

"Until you were gone, I didn't understand exactly how c-comforting that had been. Not just to have someone to talk to, or spend time with when we were bored. And not even because we _needed_ to t-talk about Harry and what we couldn't say to anyone else."

He cursed every word in his vocabulary for not lining up in proper order. But then, he remembered her words from before… she thought so much of him, after what he'd done. She'd been so angry that first night, when he'd come back, that he'd missed the layer underneath - that she'd really, _really_ missed him, too.

Sod it. She probably wasn't going to stop him. So, he did it.

Two tentative strides was all it took, and he hugged her, the top of her head neatly tucking beneath his chin as she caught up and wrapped both arms around his waist, tight.

"M'sorry," he mumbled, tilting his head down until his nose got lost in her hair. He closed his eyes, feeling her heart beat against his chest.

As much as he wanted to make her feel better, he couldn't help analysing every small movement she made, her hand flattening to his back, her head turning so her ear pressed to his heart and her cold nose brushing against his shirt sleeve.

She felt thinner than before, which made sense. He could recall in too much detail exactly how she'd felt those few scattered times when they'd hugged before. And he wondered if her illness wasn't the only reason for her chills.

He twisted three fingers into her long hair, swallowing. And he noted the moment when time ticked beyond the hazy marker that labeled this as the longest he had ever held onto her.

"Why can't I be properly angry with you?" she muttered to his bicep.

"I like this better," he smiled.

"So do I. That's the problem." She took a step back, half laughing as she wiped her face with her sleeves. He dropped his arms from around her and rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly lost for what to do with his hands, in her absence.

"You're pretty good at both," he pointed out. "Had me wondering for a few days there if you'd ever row with me again. Reckon that's a new level of outrage for you."

"Yes, well…" she said, glaring a bit up at him.

"New level of fucking up for me as well, yeah?"

She hitched another breath and sighed it out shakily, half shrugging at him as she turned away to collect her pyjamas.

"I'll just change clothes and…" she trailed off as he nodded, watching her retreat through the flap to the loo.

* * *

She must've had some brilliant thought while she'd been brushing her teeth because she'd darted back out to the table the moment she'd emerged. He'd already gotten himself brushed and dressed and partially tucked into his bed, but he was on the point of wondering if he ought to check on her, see if he could help…

He also fully recognised that a rather substantial part of him was flatly refusing sleep until she appeared, just to be sure she didn't want-

It was absurd, really, to think their arrangement last night had been anything more than mostly a coincidence. He'd fallen asleep on the floor, and she'd been freezing.

Freezing.

Okay, so maybe he still had a vaguely chivalrous part left. And he almost cursed it, because it had occurred to him that he could help her without hoping she'd ask for his body heat...

He climbed back out of his bed and clamped his wand between his teeth, rummaging in his rucksack for his water bottle. Finding it almost empty, he opened it and removed his wand from his mouth.

"Aguamenti." The bottle filled to the top, almost spilling over. "Calefacio."

The water warmed quickly until the bottle was almost too hot to hold onto. He dropped his wand to his bunk and knelt by hers, tugging back her blankets.

Hermione walked through from the kitchen and dimmed the lanterns, looking exhausted, a hint of confusion crossing her face as she studied what he was doing.

"Thought this might help," he said, as he tucked the hot water bottle under her blankets.

"What is it?"

But she didn't wait for his reply, approaching her bed and sitting down, reaching her hand under and raising her brows.

"That's really warm."

"Yeah, reckon it should stay that way for a while."

She wouldn't look at him as she climbed into bed, sitting at the head and tucking her legs under her blankets, covering herself up to the waist.

"Are your feet cold?" she asked softly.

She'd left quite a lot of space empty on the outside edge of her bunk. He tried not to notice.

"Sort of. I'm fine."

Part of him wondered distantly if he should have lied. But his bare toes _were_ vaguely numb. He had no excuse - there were several pairs of clean socks in his bag...

"Oh, this is really nice," she sighed, closing her eyes. "Come up and try it."

He reckoned he really shouldn't spend so much time overthinking everything, but then he couldn't very well explain that thought to his racing heart.

She opened her eyes, and he couldn't be sure, but she almost looked disappointed… at which point he realised he hadn't moved, or really even breathed, yet…

Clearing his throat, he pulled himself up into her bed and tucked his legs under her blankets before he could second, or third, or fourth guess it...

"Wow, not bad," he said, flexing his feet.

He wasn't entirely sure if she'd meant to move closer, but suddenly her right leg was touching his left.

"Thank you," she sniffed. He glanced over at her, watching her profile as she continued to stare forward, cheeks flushed.

"No problem."

Her eyes slipped shut, her forehead creased again, and he wanted to do more, say more. This couldn't be all.

"Do you need anything else?"

"No," she said, quietly, before she slid down further under her blankets, until she was lying on her side, facing him.

He reviewed his options, swallowing. Maybe he could try again to read her mind.

"My feet are pretty warm now. Do you want me to go?"

She shook her head against her pillow, eyes still closed. Her lips were parted, her body was radiating warmth beside him, and his options seemed to diminish down to the single one he wanted.

He slid down beside her until his head was resting on the far edge of her pillow, turning onto his side to face her. She slowly opened her eyes, and he waited for apprehension that never came. Instead, there was a shy sort of relief, the hint of a smile… before it fell, and she licked her chapped lips.

"You don't have to stay here."

"I know I don't." And he thought his meaning was clear enough by the fact that he didn't move.

She stared across at him, eyes glistening in the dim light, shadows splashing across her face. And there it was again, that moment he'd waited for, the way he'd felt the night before, when words no longer mattered, and that desperate search for them faded away to peaceful silence.

She placed her left hand on the pillow between them, and he wondered why it felt nearly impossible to move his own hand the short distance it would have to travel to touch her wrist.

"I'm not over it yet," she whispered, and though he probably shouldn't've been able to, he knew exactly what she meant. She'd been too consumed by anger and sadness. His leaving had changed a lot, thought he knew now that it would finally be alright.

"Neither am I."

And that seemed to be all she needed to hear. She smiled, tucking her knees up just enough to brush his thighs. And surely he could do it now…

He pulled his right hand up out of her blankets and very lightly rested his fingers on the soft, delicate skin of the back of her hand. She closed her eyes, a soft exhale floating out between her lips. Without too much calculation, he ran his fingers lightly over her knuckles, back down, and she seemed to hold her next breath.

He was on the point of questioning his boldness when she flipped her hand over and dragged the tips of her own fingers down the inside of his palm. His eyes fluttered shut, knowing she couldn't see him. Her legs shifted again, her knees digging into his thighs, and he moved to cover her cold foot with his calf. She shifted even closer, lightly gripping the inside of his bent arm with her other hand.

He swallowed and opened his eyes again to find her staring back, curls cascading over her face and half-blocking her from view. She cleared her throat, softened her hold on his arm…

And he slipped his hand off of hers, closer to her face until his finger twisted around a curl and dragged it off her cheek. He paused, hand so close to her face that he could touch her jaw with hardly any movement. But he chose another path as she let go of his arm and adjusted her position, sliding her foot between his legs. He flattened her hand completely to the pillow, between their faces, covering the backs of her own fingers with his much longer ones. She made a tiny sound like a strangled whimper, and he forced himself not to react too much to it, stomping down an involuntary shiver.

But then, she shifted her fingers under his until his fell between hers. He knew what she wanted, so he laced their fingers and gripped her hand from the back, and she almost immediately tugged his knuckles to her face, closing her eyes again as she breathed deeply against his hand.

He was just beginning to wonder how he would ever sleep with his heart hammering behind his ribs… when he noticed that her breathing had slowed, her shivering had gone. And the deep hours of night were so quiet around them, cloaked by the strangely comfortable weight of excitement that had buzzed in his mind. And though he'd thought she was asleep, she surprised him as he finally closed his eyes by speaking so softly.

"I'm so glad you're home."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:** This one has a brief narrative change! I'm not specifically planning to make that a normal thing, but it had to be done, because what's a slowly building fluff story without a little physical appreciation of Ron?_

* * *

He woke to the feeling of her lips on his knuckles.

For a few silent seconds, he stared across the small section of pillow that separated his face from hers. She was deeply, peacefully asleep, breathing against his hand through parted lips. His right leg was overlapping hers, her feet under his calf. And her right hand was just barely touching his chest, which he couldn't be sure had been at all intentional.

One hundred and fifty percent of him didn't want to move.

The gentle silence was marred only by the drizzle of a very light rain against their canvas roof, and he knew he had to tear himself away. Harry would be delirious if he stayed outside much longer, and Ron wasn't sure he'd realise how much time had passed unless someone insisted on relieving him.

He started with his leg, gently lifting his weight off of her until he was fully on his own side of the bed. Her breathing remained soft and even, so he raised his head from the pillow and began unraveling his fingers from hers, one at a time, until he could slide his hand completely away from her face.

As he sat up, he ran a hand through his sleep tousled hair, and he noted that her blankets had fallen away from her shoulders, so he very slowly tugged them back up in place before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing, stretching.

It was more than a little unfair, he thought. If only the fighting could stop for a few hours, he could crawl back in beside her and move a little bit closer than he'd been before-

Bugger the damn war.

* * *

She woke to a dark view of him standing between her bunk and his own… almost naked.

For a few seconds, she was convinced she hadn't fully woken up yet. But he was there, in his faded maroon boxers… and nothing else.

She thought her fever might have broken in her sleep, because she felt stronger… and she'd been having very strange and repetitive dreams in which she was trying in vain to hold onto some physical part of him - his hand, his arm, the hem of his shirt… Maybe she'd distantly felt him leaving, as he'd gotten up and separated from her.

But, just now, he clearly had no idea she was awake. And even less of a guess that she was staring.

Her eyes drifted up his bare legs, freckles and beautiful skin, ginger hairs peppering his shins, his thighs… a bruise she hadn't known about, the size of an apple, near his right knee. A few scabbed scratches coloured his skin further up on his right side, near the dangerously low elastic of his pants. He turned slightly, and she could see the copper hairs thickening and trailing down from his belly button, until they disappeared. She had an aching sort of need to follow them further...

His tight stomach muscles moved as he reached up to the bars of Harry's top bunk for a shirt, hip bones cutting over the top of his pants. His biceps flexed as he turned the shirt right-side-out, and she flashed her eyes across his naked chest, moon-pale skin and light pink nipples, freckles roaming across his smooth shoulders. He turned his back toward her as he wrangled his shirt partway up his arms, and she swallowed as his shoulderblades moved under perfect skin. His back seemed so shockingly strong, carved from Quidditch and fighting, and she felt an oddly protective bloom rise up.

But then.

A wave washed over her, and she would have done anything to make it go away. He was so close to her, _undressed_. She could never do that with him so close by. And _why_ couldn't she? She clawed away from the question, begging her tired mind and wavering hormones not to ask it. Never. But the answer was too clear.

Because he wasn't just her friend. He was so, so much more. Because he was everything. She wanted _all_. And the thought of her own plain skin, average body… Fear at what he'd think, if he saw her that way - it kept her too nervous to risk it. If he saw her, naked, she had to be sure the rest of what he felt would be enough.

But now...

What did it mean that he didn't care about the same things she did?

She didn't realise she was crying until it was much too late.

"Hermione?"

He was crouching by her bed, dropping the shirt he'd only pulled on halfway to the floor.

She pushed up on her elbow, stuck between ashamed at losing control like this and flushing at his proximity, still so damn naked. She shivered, trying to catch her breath, but the cloud of doubt had grown too large, and she knew, subconsciously, that she was ignoring so many signs to the contrary. She couldn't help it.

"Hey, what's-" he started, eyes creased at the corners, concerned.

"Do you see me like a s-sister?" she choked out between hitching breaths.

His eyes widened.

"What?! Hell no."

She'd done that thing again, convincing herself through a whirlpool of doubt that he could never say something so emphatically opposite from what she feared. And so, his words pulled relief from deep inside her, and she sat the rest of the way up, meeting his startled gaze.

"Are you wearing a Horcrux?" he teased, and her tears shifted to nervous laughter as she wiped her face dry.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I was half asleep."

He gave her that sideways smile that stopped her heart, and she smiled back, shrugging, her cheeks warming as they flushed.

"Do you see _me_ like-" he began.

"Absolutely not," she cut him off, grinning fully now.

She wondered if he realised his fingertips were lightly touching her leg. She was having a hard time focusing on anything else, once she'd noticed it…

"You okay then?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. Sorry," she said again, and he shook his head dismissively.

"It's five in the morning," he said. "I have to go relieve Harry."

"I'm coming with you."

* * *

He went out ahead of her, sending Harry to bed while she got dressed. When she emerged from the tent a few minutes later, she was carrying two steaming mugs of tea.

"Oh, cheers," he said as she sat and handed him one.

She sipped slowly for a few moments, and he alternated between studying her profile and drinking his own tea…

He couldn't quite follow what had happened when she'd woken up, and he was stuck wondering why she'd suddenly asked such a question. She'd seemed so afraid of his answer, and though they really hadn't come close to defining their relationship, he didn't think she could really confuse him sleeping in her bed and holding her hand for anything other than what it was… at least a significant enough part of it, anyway.

"Were you having a nightmare, or something?" he asked, voice a bit rough from sleep.

She sighed slowly and took another long sip of her tea, and he felt impossibly curious, anticipating what she was obviously working up to saying.

"No."

One simple word stood in the air between them. And then, she looked at him, rosy cheeks easily a symptom of the chill of the early morning. Or, possibly, something else…

"You were just…" she continued, pausing to swallow. "I woke up, and you were changing you clothes, right there next to me."

"Oh." He recalled his decision to strip down by his bed when he thought she'd been sound asleep. "Just seemed easier than going to the loo. I've done it before, y'know. You just don't usually wake up…"

"How can you _d-do_ that?" she asked, in a small voice.

"Didn't give it a lot of thought," he admitted. "We're living in a tent."

She shook her head and looked away. He tried not to focus too much on the deepening colour across her cheeks.

"Sorry," he went on, when she stayed silent. "Does it bother you? I won't do it anym-"

"No, it's not that."

She briefly closed her eyes, shivering slightly in the misty drizzle of icy rain.

"I hope it doesn't rain all day," she suddenly added, glancing up distractedly. "I hate moving when it's doing this."

"Harry and I can set up the tent pretty fast. I've got an extra coat you can have while we walk," he offered, tugging his current coat tighter around his shoulders.

She looked back at him again, eyes locking on his before shifting away.

"I'd just be way too nervous to…" she paused, shaking her head, "strip off like that, so _casual_ , in front of you."

It took him a second to skip back to their initial conversation. But, once he had, he felt himself desperately suppress a groan at the mere mention of Hermione stripping off anything...

"But, I'm a bloke," he explained, suddenly realising what might be confusing her.

"What difference does that make?" she asked, catching his eyes again, now that confusion had fully replaced embarrassment.

"Loads," he said, slightly surprised that she didn't get it. "I mean… it's…" He was dancing on dangerous water, he realised, searching wildly for words that wouldn't be impossible to say out loud. "Girls don't normally do stuff like that… It'd be, y'know, hard not to be attracted to… everything."

Oh, good job, he thought, watching her lick her bottom lip as he blushed to the roots of his hair.

"And you think it _wasn't_ , for me?" she asked, voice cracking a bit at the end.

Oh, shit.

"Uh… I didn't really think… no."

"You really have no idea," she marveled, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear with a slightly shaking hand. "Haven't you heard girls at school talking about fancying different boys through the years?"

"Well, yeah, but…"

"I meant physically," she corrected, clearing her throat lightly.

His mouth was suddenly dry, despite his tea, which - basically forgotten in his hands - was now cooling to lukewarm in the winter air.

"I couldn't possibly do that in front of you," she continued, voice a bit raw, "because I'd be way too worried about what you'd think. I thought, maybe, because _you_ could do it so easily, that… that you really didn't care what I thought. And I can't see how you _wouldn't_ care, unless you weren't nervous about how I'd react."

It took him several breaths of silence to follow all that she had laid down in her few honest sentences. He closed his eyes and shook his head, boggled. When he opened them again, she was looking at him with nervously parted lips.

"Well," he said, swallowing, "you've just made me very retrospectively self-conscious."

"You definitely have no reason to be…"

She huddled slightly in the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, taking a few quick swallows of her tea in what he had to suspiciously guess was an act of covering up some layer of embarrassment.

He circled around a realisation he wasn't sure he was ready to make. It just didn't seem possible that she saw him exactly the way he saw her… Her jumper would slide over her shoulder, and his heart would clench, following her smooth skin up the curve of her neck. In the summers, she'd lie on the grass at the Burrow with Ginny, her legs bare to halfway up her thighs. He'd disappeared more than once to curse in his room and try not to focus on noticing, preparing for the next time she'd come by to find him. Surely, she couldn't-

She scooted closer, closer again… and, tilting her head to the side, she rested it on top of his shoulder. His heart beat a pattern of insistence against his ribs as he felt heat radiate toward the right side of his body. But he was quicker, this time, than he had been in the past. He'd grown delightfully accustomed to her touching him more than was strictly necessary, over the past few days, especially. And he draped his arm around her shoulders, his hand finding a hold on the far side of her upper arm.

"I'm sorry," she said, so softly, sniffing. "I only meant… I really d-don't think it's different, for you. Can you just trust me?"

"Yeah, 'course."

He wanted the words he knew she couldn't say, but he _did_ trust her, and he knew that was all that really mattered.

"Thank you."

* * *

She was shivering fiercely again by the time they'd reached the coast and had the tent up. He'd charmed his extra coat waterproof, for her, but it didn't seem to make too much of a difference. The misty air seeped through everything around them, and the rain had picked up intensely only moments before they'd begun the wards around their new campsite. The seaside air had a sort of salty twinge that wasn't altogether unpleasant. Actually, it was a relief to at least not be surrounded by frosted hills and barren trees.

Ron set to work on dinner almost immediately, thinking at least something warm to eat would be good for everybody. Harry barely spoke as Hermione emerged a quarter of an hour later in dry clothes, carrying stacks of notes and insisting that they focus on continuing to track possible locations for the remaining Horcruxes while they ate.

Several hours and very little progress later, Harry disappeared to wash up, and Ron put on his cloak and picked up one of Hermione's bluebell jars.

"Where are you going?" she asked, from her spot on the sofa, where she had been removing items from her beaded bag and reorganising them for something to do.

"Thought I'd take first watch. Harry's been… y'know," and he waved vaguely toward the loo to indicate his frustration.

"We just have to keep pushing him," Hermione said, a bit sadly.

"Yeah."

He ruffled his hair, cursing himself for already thinking about sleeping in her bunk again, in a few hours...

"My water bottle's in my rucksack, if you want it again," he said.

Her gaze fell away from him, with something like disappointment.

"Not sure I'll be able to sleep," she muttered, almost under her breath. But he thought that statement was a bit pessimistic, given how exhausted she looked.

"Come outside with me if you want. Just didn't want your cold getting worse."

She looked back up at him then, and a small smile flashed across her face before she stood.

"I might do that, for a while," she said, "if you don't mind-"

He laughed over her absurd words, shaking his head.

"No. C'mon."

* * *

She'd fallen asleep against his shoulder, and his eyes were blurring out of focus. He should probably get her up and go inside. They'd been out here five and a half hours, and though it was significantly less chilly than it had been further north, there was still a cold, salty breeze, and the rain had starting misting down again.

He shifted, hoping Harry had got enough sleep, rather than obsessing over the Snitch and the Hallows from his bunk. But his movement woke Hermione abruptly, and she grasped the front of his jumper in a tight fist as she jolted her head off his shoulder.

"Oi!"

She blinked and looked up at him, and her hold on his jumper slackened until her hand fell away.

"Sorry," he said, clearing his throat, scratchy from lack of recent use. "Was gonna wake you, anyway. We should go in. It's after five."

She shifted her blanket around her shoulders and licked her lips as he stretched his arm, regaining circulation after several hours of not being able to move it.

"Sorry I slept on you so long," she said quietly, watching him.

"Nah, it's fine. You barely weigh anything."

She smiled briefly at him, cheeks going a little pink, but then her expression turned tired and serious again.

"You think Harry's alright?"

"He will be," Ron tried to reassure her, sighing. "And look, I've been thinking, while we've been sitting out here… That doe's got to be really significant, yeah? So, if we could just focus for a while on figuring out who cast it, we might be able to risk finding them and seeing if they can help. They _wanted_ to help, before, or they wouldn't have led us to the sword."

"Someone who knew _how_ to get the sword, and knew that they should show us, might also know…" Her eyes widened slightly.

"Exactly. They know we need it, which means they must have guessed something about what we're doing."

She nodded, looking up at him with a spark of excitement.

"Maybe we can get Harry on our side again if we figure out who it was," Ron added, stretching his legs out and reaching for their now-dim bluebell jar.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered.

He glanced back down at her with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm just not sure how much longer I'd have had the energy to keep fighting Harry on my own," she explained.

"I know I've taken his side on stuff before, but you're right this time. And anyway, I've learned to listen to you better."

Harry emerged from the tent behind them, yawning.

"Why'd you stay out so long?" he asked, moving closer and sitting next to Ron.

"We need more than four hours of sleep a night," Ron explained, pushing off the ground and standing, extending a hand toward Hermione. She took it was a soft smile, and he tugged her up to stand beside him.

"Why do I feel like you're not including yourself in that rule?" Harry yawned again, adjusting his glasses.

"Are you good?" Ron asked, ignoring Harry's words.

"Yeah. Too distracted to sleep anymore anyway."

"Wake me if-"

"Yeah, yeah," and Harry waved him away. "I'll come get you both if something exciting finally happens…"

Ron didn't love the tone of Harry's voice, but there wasn't much for it in the middle of the night. Hermione's brows creased with concern, but Ron managed to persuade her inside by tugging her jumper sleeve.

Once they'd reached their bunks, Hermione turned to face him.

"I don't know how to get through to him."

"He won't do anything stupid," Ron tried to convince her, though he didn't feel completely sure of that himself.

"Maybe we could take turns talking to him later?"

"Sure," he agreed, blinking rapidly as his eyes burned tiredly.

She nodded, reaching for her pyjamas and passing by him for the loo.

* * *

When he rejoined her by their bunks again, he thought she might already be asleep. She was lying on her side, facing away from him. Once again, she'd left quite a large gap between the outside edge of her mattress and her own body.

Risking an assumption was at the near bottom of Ron's list of easy activities, so he stared for several seconds, think he ought to just stop being ridiculous and get some sleep in his _own_ bed…

"Ron?" she asked, muffled from near-sleep and shifting slightly under her blankets.

"Yeah."

He sat very tentatively on the edge of her bed, to hear her properly.

"I'm sorry we didn't talk much about your family, before you left. I know you were worried."

He hadn't expected anything like this, so his brows shot up before he shook his head, even though she couldn't see him.

"Nah, it's fine. Bill gave me loads of updates while I was staying with him."

"But I should have been more sensitive. My parents are far away and safe. You had no idea what was happening with yours."

She flipped onto her back and looked up at him, eyes darting between his.

"It wasn't exactly easy, what _you_ had to do," he said softly, swallowing as her eyes glistened.

He didn't notice what was she doing until she was very shyly taking his hand. He looked down, her small fingers curling around his.

How was it that he could reach for her hand, outside, minutes ago, and yet now, inside, he felt like he was slowly falling sideways at her gentle touch?

The part of him that was arguing knew damn well that this was different.

Was it going to be this fantastic, every time? _Every_ time. That was him getting ahead of himself, he rationalised, but she was looking at him with the kind of nervousness that surely wasn't worth the effort for a little bit of fleeting comfort.

He should probably start making some moves, he considered, looking back on the fact that she had initiated virtually every single thing that had gotten them closer over the past few days. Maybe that's why she'd thought… the bloody sister thing. He couldn't have that.

He said the words three times inside his head before he could manage them out loud.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

"Only if you want to." And he marveled for the millionth time at how absolutely brilliant she was. She'd get truth he wouldn't give her, just by making his actions the answer.

He couldn't think. If he thought, he'd be stuck here again. So, he removed his hand from her grasp and untucked her blankets on his side.

He really wished he could shake the words "his side" out of his brain for long enough to tuck in next to her. But, it was too late. His heart was hammering away again.

He stretched out on his back, beside her, their shoulders pressed together. And then, she moved again, flipping toward him. He turned his head to look at her, finding her wild hair and pink tinted cheeks so mesmerising in the dark.

He noticed something he wasn't sure if he should notice. She wasn't shivering. In fact, she seemed to be radiating a kind of body heat that didn't require his presence for warmth at all. Yet, somehow, all it did to focus on this bit of elating information was make him bolder.

He lifted his arm over her head, and she met his eyes with a simple question, no need for his response as she pulled herself against his side, resting her head on his shoulder as he very lightly laid his arm down, over her back. But his bones were lanky, fingers long and stretching too far, too close to a strip of exposed skin at the bottom edge of her shirt. He swallowed and dropped his fingers to the sheets behind her.

He wondered if she could feel his madly beating heart.

And then, she shifted, bending her leg and resting it on top of his thigh. Way too close to-

He suspected she knew more about anatomy than he might have previously guessed. But knowing and experiencing were two vastly different things, and he wasn't sure he was ready to face that just yet. If he stayed like this for long, she was absolutely going to find out the full scope of the effect she had on him.

He bit the inside of his cheek and moved his body a fraction away from her, silently begging her not to notice.

"Sorry," she muttered, starting to slide away.

And he reacted before he knew what he was doing, halting her movements by reaching across his waist to grasp her leg in his hand, fingers wrapping way too high up her thigh. She froze, lifting her eyes in an attempt to meet his.

He could feel way too much of her through her thin pyjamas.

"Sorry!" He let her go, but she didn't budge. "I wasn't uh… shit. I wasn't trying to move away from you… really…"

"If I'm making you uncomfortable-"

"No! You're not. Well…" he started to amend, recalling his initial reason for actually trying to move away, a bit. "Not the way you think."

She licked her lips, forehead creased in contemplation.

"Trust me?" he managed to say, recalling her words from earlier. He _did_ allow her eyes to meet his then, and she softened in his gaze.

Very slowly, she smiled, a tiny nod against his shoulder.

Thunder cracked in the distance, and he lightly cleared his throat again, noting that most of the left side of his body was now completely broken out in gooseflesh. She shifted again, very slightly off of him, but he felt every part of her movement this time, her leg sliding over his, her curled fingers gently resting down on top of his stomach, her hair fluffing into his nose as she settled, closing her eyes.

She breathed deeply, her chest expanding against the side of his body, and he closed his own eyes, focused intently on his other senses… the scent of her hair, her weight on him, security in twisted blankets and soft pyjamas.

And as she began to drift, he noted that her blankets were bunched at their waists, her skin very warm to the touch in spite of her exposure. And he knew, for sure, that she needed him in a different way than he'd thought, no longer necessary for her fever-chilled skin.

Maybe she had needed more than that, all along…


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:**_ _First, I would just like to dedicate "ice water" to my beautiful **napchic**. Some of you will maybe know why :) Love you, babe. In related news, this chapter is a harder T than previous chapters… I considered moving it to M. Shrug. _

_Also, there's a Harry and Hermione (grrr) DH film dance response, which I have been wanting to write for ages, and it just finally escaped into words today. Fly free!_

 _Oh, you should listen to the song **"Ambulance Chaser" by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah** , if you're into that sort of thing. It was essentially the only thing I listened to while writing this chapter._

 _And, last but not least, I dedicate the "boulder" in this chapter to my crew of **Radio Times** poll buddies! You know who you are :)_

* * *

Their canvas walls were dimly glowing in late morning light when he opened his eyes again. Wrinkling his nose, he blinked, noting that Hermione had flipped over in her sleep. The back of her head was now toward his face, which accounted for the frizzy curls tickling his nose and lips. She was using his left bicep as a pillow, and both of her hands were lightly resting on his forearm. All along his side, he felt her warm back, down to where her knees were bent away from him. Shit. Her arse, clothed only in thin pyjamas, against his leg… clothed only in thin pyjamas.

Shit.

The only bad thing about his current predicament was that he needed to get up relatively soon and empty his bladder…

Optimistically hoping he could manage to work his way out of bed and use the loo and make it back without waking her, he started to slowly turn onto his side, facing her. His strategy was to reach across her body with his right hand and lift both of her hands off his arm, then slide his arm out from under her head. It was risky, but he wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep in his current state, so he figured it was better to make the move now and hope it was still early enough that she wouldn't mind staying in bed for a while yet…

He'd just gotten to the bit where he was stretching his arm over her side…

He realised, immediately, that she was awake. Clearly, she had completely misunderstood what he was trying to do, still half asleep, and she reached for his wrist, tugging his arm the rest of the way over her body, and settling quite still again.

He swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was to her. He shifted his hips back a bit, feeling way too much of her against him…

She breathed deeply for a few seconds before her head moved on his arm.

"You awake?" she whispered in the tiniest voice. He assumed that she was so exceptionally quiet because she didn't want to wake him if he was, in fact, still asleep. And, he also realised that he could definitely fake not having heard her, believably.

Sod it. He still had to piss.

"Yeah," he whispered back.

She dropped the arm she'd pulled over her own waist as if burned. No longer held in place, he had no idea what to do that could possibly end in him not having to avoid eye contact with her for the next hour.

"I was just trying to get to the loo and back without waking you," he admitted, totally missing the part about how she might be embarrassed that she'd misunderstood his actions.

"Oh! Sorry!" Yep. Perfect…

She lifted her head off his arm, her back still toward him as he extricated himself from her.

"Is Harry still outside?" she asked, lowering her head to her pillow as he climbed out of bed.

"Reckon so. I'll check on him."

* * *

No, it wasn't the first time he'd had a wank in the tent loo. It also would absolutely not be the last time. He'd even done it once from his bunk while she'd been taking a shower, Harry sitting watch outside.

What, exactly, was he expected to do? Dunk his bits in a bucket of ice water every twenty-four hours?

He couldn't stop feeling her arse on his outer thigh. But knew he'd _better_ stop, if he was planning to leave the loo at any point that day.

But.

He reckoned this situation could only get worse (so much better) from here. If he kept sleeping in her bed, it was only a matter of time before she noticed what she was doing to him. It would be a miracle for him to keep waking up before her, every morning.

He considered how unfair it was that girls lacked a similar problem. And then, he considered Hermione's words to him, yesterday, about girls at school discussing the physical attributes of the blokes they fancied.

And THEN, he imagined Hermione stripping _her_ shirt off while he was stretched out along her bed…

He squeezed his eyes shut, rationalising that he simply couldn't be this turned on by her body innocently sleeping beside him. If he _was_ (he definitely was), then what would happen, exactly, if he was ever face to face with a real issue, like snogging her or… Nope. Following this line of thought would keep him locked in the loo til some time next week.

He heard Harry and Hermione's voices from the sitting room, and he felt both disappointed and relieved that he wouldn't be able to go back to bed. At least he could distract himself with notes and maps and strategising...

* * *

She was going to try to talk to Harry again, which he suspected would fall mostly on deaf ears, but he'd taken first watch, to give her a chance, before Harry went to bed. But by one in the morning, he re-entered the tent to ringing silence, Harry glaring slightly into space. Ron caught Hermione's eyes, raising his brows in question, but she sighed with defeat, standing and moving toward the tent flap.

"Ron," she said softly, giving him a pointed look that told him she wanted to talk to him privately. But he'd gotten impressively good at reading these moments, and he already knew what she wanted. He nodded very slightly, eyes flicking over to Harry, and her expression of concern morphed to tired relief. "Thanks," she mouthed, before slipping outside for second watch.

* * *

"Mate," he was saying, half an hour later, having just finished a dead boring game of chess.

Harry glanced up, adjusting his glasses.

"You could just _try_ to do both," Ron continued, now that he had Harry's attention, at least. "I'm not saying you've got to give up this Hallows thing altogether, but Hermione's got a point about staying on task. Dumbledore never mentioned the bleeding Hallows, Harry. Surely he'd have done if he'd meant for you to-"

"We've been through this."

Ron paused, looking for another tactic.

"Look, even if you find the bloody wand and stone… you've still got to kill You-Know-Who, yeah? And the Horcruxes have to be destroyed to do that."

"Says who?"

"Oh, come on," Ron snorted, exasperated. "What did you spend all of last year doing?"

"We've made a hell of a lot of assumptions," Harry said. "Doesn't it still strike you as odd that we've been out here for months and hardly gotten any further with the damn Horcrux bit? But then we _do_ find something important, and the two of you act like I've gone barmy to care about it. It was Hermione's idea to even see Lovegood about the symbol! She's just too stubborn to let me be right about this!"

"That's not fair," Ron countered, feeling a bit defensive. "She doesn't care who's right as long as it's _actually_ right."

Harry scoffed and shook his head.

"I know what the two of you are doing."

"What'd'you mean?"

"Teaming up to wear me down."

Alright, so it did look like that. And maybe that's what it actually was. But Hermione was trying to push a boulder up a hill by herself. The least Harry could do was pretend to give a shit.

"I just don't think we can give this up. If we lose focus, it'll take even longer, and we don't have time to waste."

"So," Harry started, meeting Ron's eyes again, "you think slogging away at the same damn problem for months on end and starving ourselves isn't wasting time?"

"No, it won't be… if we work together _."_

Harry eyed Ron sceptically.

"Do you honestly believe that?"

Ron didn't have to think before he answered.

"Yeah."

They shared a long silent moment, and the most Ron could hope for was that Harry was at least considering his words. At last, Harry took a deep breath and stood, stretching.

"I haven't been sleeping well. Better give it a go now before Hermione needs a kip."

"You haven't been-"

"Don't tell her," Harry cut in, and Ron nodded, standing as well.

"Go on, then," he said, managing a smile as Harry ran a hand through his hair, nodding.

* * *

He hadn't realised how much time had passed until she was coming back inside. He'd been sitting at the kitchen table, reviewing maps and attempting to tune into a middle of the night repeat Potterwatch broadcast, but the password was still elusive.

"How did it go?" she asked him, softly, as she sat across the table from him.

"Alright, I think," he said, feeling less optimistic than he sounded. "He listened, argued… more than we can say about the last couple of days."

She nodded, blinking slowly.

"You think he's had enough sleep? I couldn't stay awake out there anymore."

"I'll take another hour on watch," Ron suggested, recalling Harry's words about insomnia. "I'm still alright. Been looking at where we should move the tent next. Unless you had an idea about that already?"

"No," she sighed, heavily. "I haven't given it a lot of thought yet. It just feels so arbitrary, at this point."

"Maybe not," and he reached for the map he had folded open on a particularly intriguing section. "There's loads of small Wizarding villages nearby. I marked a few on here." He pointed them out as she leaned over the table for a better view. "I think we've got to get a little bolder and try poking around some of them."

"Mould-on-the-Wold," Hermione read off, lifting her gaze to Ron's and taking in a breath to continue her realisation out loud. But he nodded and spoke first.

"Right, where Dumbledore's family lived originally."

"That's… yeah, we should try it," she said, more alert now than she had been moments ago, slowly smiling. "But aren't there giants living in the Cotswolds?"

He didn't quite know why she was asking him, considering he was sure she knew the answer. But he felt strangely pleased to be at the receiving end of her question, as if she really wanted him to take the lead. Maybe it was something of a relief to her, to trust that he was working on this, taking things seriously.

"Yeah, but we should be clear of them if we keep to the village and set up camp nearby."

She nodded, taking in a deep breath. He was caught silently staring back at her, before he recalled the other thing he'd wanted to tell her about.

"Oh, I also started a list of all the Patronuses we're aware of. Y'know, each person's name, and what form theirs takes."

He slid a piece of parchment covered in his scratchy handwriting across the table toward her. She stared at it for a few moments before looking up at him again.

"This is brilliant."

He shrugged.

"See if I've left anyone out," he suggested. "Not tonight. Later. But you can add them if I have. Reckon we can force Harry to have a look tomorrow as well."

He picked up his wand, and the movement caused the wireless beside him to buzz, attempting to scan for a channel.

"I was trying for Potterwatch again," he explained. "Still no luck on the password."

"They broadcast this late?" she asked, glancing down at his wristwatch for the time.

"Nah, but they've got it set to replay in the middle of the night. I caught it a couple of times at Bill's when I couldn't sleep."

Her expression softened, but he didn't want to talk about that, not with things relatively peaceful between them, for now. So, he cleared his throat and pushed his chair back from the table, ready to head outside for a while.

"Oh! I have something for you," and she got up before he could, crossing to the sitting room to retrieve her beaded bag from the sofa, reaching down into it as she approached the table again. She picked up his empty tea cup and uncorked a vial of some unmarked potion that looked distantly familiar to him.

"What's that?"

"Pepperup. I took it yesterday, and it helped a lot. It was really selfish of me to sleep with you while I wasn't feeling well." She paused, and her cheeks coloured significantly. He replayed her phrasing several times, trying not to blush as she went on. "Anyway, I think you should take it, too. I'll feel awful if you've caught my cold."

"I really don't care," he said dismissively. But she gave him a sad sort of pleading look, and he didn't want her to keep feeling bad, especially when he planned to go right on sleeping in her bunk for as long as she'd allow it. "But I'll take it if it'll make you feel better."

She smiled and poured out a portion into his cup, handing it across to him. He downed it in one thick swallow, grimacing slightly at the earthy and slightly metallic taste.

"Right," he said, placing his empty cup on the table again and standing. "I'll come see how Harry's doing in an hour. You might as well go to bed."

She gazed back at him for a few seconds longer than was totally comfortable, and when she finally nodded and turned away, he felt his stomach flip, anticipating another night with his arm around her.

* * *

"It's 1998."

Harry had gone out to relieve Ron after half an hour, and Ron had just approached Hermione's bunk to find her still awake, sitting in the middle of her bed and scanning his wireless.

She looked up at the sound of his voice, lifting her brows in question.

"Last Thursday was the first of January," he explained. "I only realised it a few minutes ago. Lost track of the days and had to check the calendar in the kitchen to be sure."

"It's the sixth, already?" Hermione asked, incredulously.

"Apparently."

He sat on the edge of her bed and turned his attention to the wireless, which was quietly attempting to play what sounded like an instrumental song under layers of static.

"I tried a bit for Potterwatch," she said, and he moved closer to tap the wireless with his own wand.

"McKinnon," he tried, but the only response was a slight increase in static. "Travers." Nothing.

"Is there a trick to these?"

"No one's specifically mentioned it, but Bill reckons they're mostly the names of dead Order members, like a tribute." He paused, clearing his throat. "Hedwig," he tried.

Hermione lifted a brow, and he shrugged.

"Couldn't hurt to try."

They listened to waning static for a few more moments before Ron slouched forward, elbows on his knees.

"It's probably too late now, anyway."

Hermione tapped the wireless with her own wand, fuzzy channels passing by until a slightly clearer station faded in, an old song breaking through.

"Didn't Bill and Fleur have this one at their wedding?" she asked softly.

"Think so. It's pretty good."

They sat in silence for several moments, just listening, and he really wished he had an excuse to hold her hand.

He didn't need one, he argued with himself. But it didn't matter for very long.

She stood, sniffing, and he knew, with her cold gone, that this was something else. Without looking at him, she picked up a few stray socks from the floor, tossing them to his bunk and Harry's, respectively. He distantly warmed at the knowledge that she could tell the difference.

But he knew what she was doing, distraction in keeping busy. They'd all been guilty of it, but maybe he'd actually done it the most, these last few days. Maybe that was why he could recognise it now, so easily.

He stood, ready to stop her, but she paused, still facing away from him.

"Do you really think we have a chance?" she asked, at a near-whisper.

"Yeah," he answered, surprised at the sureness of his own voice. "I really do."

He recalled his decision, the night before, to be braver… to show her the difference between a bloody sister and-

He wouldn't think the words he couldn't say, because it would have only made it harder to do what he did next.

His hand was wrapping around her wrist before he'd taken his next breath. She turned to look up at him, over her shoulder, eyes wet and reflective.

"C'mere," he suggested, voice raw and scratchy.

She turned around without a pause for questioning him, which he chose to focus on for the sake of twisting her hand in his until he had laced their fingers together and she was leaning into him, resting her head on his chest as he wrapped his other arm low around her waist. It wasn't quite dancing, but it was close enough… and so much better.

The first song faded to the next, and they were hardly moving. He closed his eyes and let go of her hand in favour of pulling her closer with both arms around her. And he felt her hand slide further up his back, narrowly remembering to breathe when it was time. But then the air was full of static, music disappearing, and she lifted her head, seeking his eyes and holding on. She was so close. So close he could almost-

She let go of him, but only long enough to move the wireless to the floor and dim the soft lantern light to almost nothing, reaching for him again as she climbed into bed. He crawled in with her and stretched out on his side, an ache deep in his chest as she faced him and placed a shaking hand over his heart. He reached up, dragging his fingertips along the curve of her arm, and her eyes fluttered shut.

There were so many words, at last, on the tip of his tongue. But a bittersweet storm moved through him, an echo of the repetitive rain outside. She moved closer, inches away now, across her pillow.

"I think I have a lot… a lot to tell you," he whispered, her eyes cracking open and staring, through the dark.

"I really hope you do," she whispered back.

He could probably do it. Right now.

"I'm so…" she started, strained. "God, I'm afraid if we talk, and then… there won't be anything left."

He waited for her to make sense, heart pounding against her hand.

"It's like your dad said. Everyone's scared they won't get the chance for the things they want. That's… I can't do that. I can't live like we won't make it."

She was actually right. But he thought if she only knew how long he'd been trying to tell her, maybe-

He didn't want her to think that this was only because of the sodding war. And he equally didn't want her to think that it was easy for him to let it go now, when he suspected they were so, so close.

"Then… maybe you'll just know," he said in a low rumble of a voice. "I don't have to say anything."

She looked so conflicted, and he understood. How much longer could he really hold back?

But if he could just know, for sure, that she wanted him, too...

"Can you promise me," she started, swallowing as her voice lifted in an attempt to keep from crying, "you'll just… if you really mean it, and you still do, when it's over, then…"

She was trying so hard to do this, to say it without really saying anything at all. Oh, how long they had been here, right here, trapped.

He knew he could open the door for her, just a crack, just enough to see the light on the other side.

He let go of her arm and removed her hand from his chest, lifting her fingers to his lips and closing his eyes to stay strong. He pressed the faintest kiss to her fingertips, listening intently as her breathing changed, coming in shorter bursts between parted lips. He didn't have to see to know.

"Promise," he muttered, completely unsure what he was agreeing to. But it didn't seem to matter at all.

He started to release her hand, tempted just enough to crack open his eyes. But she didn't move back, resting her palm on his stubbly cheek, tears welling in her eyes. So, he copied her, resting his large hand on the side of her neck, ducking just enough to lightly touch his forehead to hers, closing his eyes again.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N:** Just livin' in fluffland. Don't mind me._

 _ **ETA:** Thank you to **callieskye** for "Dementors," and thank you to **shocolate** for hair elastic!_

* * *

She had taken off her jumper, sometime in the night, and she was now only wearing a thin vest and her pyjama trousers. It really was quite cozy, with two blankets and two bodies, so he couldn't really blame her. Though he found it both amusing and incredibly arousing that they had reached the point where they actually had to start making accommodations to be _less_ warm, sharing a bed.

He'd wound up on his back again, her head on his upper arm, but facing him this time, almost lying on her stomach. Her left foot was between his shins, most of her leg draped over his, and her left arm was stretched flat across his ribs, hand dangling over the edge of the bed. He could feel each breath she took as her breasts pressed tighter to his side.

It was bloody fortunate that her blankets were still covering him below his waist.

He thought of the night before almost as if it floated in the cloud of a hazy dream. With the morning sunlight glowing through their walls, his heart raced again, newly embarrassed that he had actually kissed her fingers. At least she didn't seem to be at all nervous anymore about physical proximity, in her sleep.

She shifted against him and lifted her face, meeting his eyes with her own, half-open. Startled by his gaze on her, awake, she flinched slightly but didn't move away.

"Hey," he raked through his scratchy throat.

She flushed almost imperceptibly before clearing her throat and licking her lips.

"Hey," she whispered back.

Her palm pressed down against his stomach as she sat up halfway, and he silently choked at feeling her small fingers so low on his body.

"The rain's stopped," she pointed out, staring at the wall and listening. "We should move the tent before it starts again."

He became suddenly aware that his hand was still sprawled across her back, so he dropped it to the mattress as she tugged her leg off of him. She sat the rest of the way up and tucked thick curls behind her ears, and he actively willed his eyes above her shoulders, having caught a glimpse of her upper chest as she moved, more skin than he'd ever seen before.

He was just beginning to stress about how he was going to be able to make an escape without her watching him when she shifted around again and swung her legs over his knees, scooting _over_ his body to get out of bed. He closed his eyes and resisted swearing out loud at the feeling of her arse on him before she stood. When he opened his eyes again, she had her back toward him and was gathering her hair off her neck, twisting it and securing it with a thick hair elastic.

Noises from the kitchen alerted them to Harry's presence, close by, and Ron couldn't be sure, but he wondered if there was any correlation between this realisation and her quick movement to pull her jumper back on over her vest, cheeks rosier than they had been earlier.

"I'll figure out breakfast," she muttered, walking away without looking back.

* * *

The village of Mould-on-the-Wold was quiet and cloudy, and though the rain had held back so far, it threatened to start up again before the day was out. They had put up their wards and were sitting around a small fire at the tent entrance, all three of them, Hermione surrounded by her usual half dozen books and Harry working knots out of his boot laces.

The chill was a tad biting, but not completely uncomfortable, and the warmth from the fire was enough of an offset for Ron to shrug off his cloak as he contemplated dinner.

"Porridge or tinned peas tonight?" he asked around, attempting to feign an excited expression as Harry briefly glanced over, disinterested.

Hermione flipped a page in the book she was working through, ignoring him.

He shifted his gaze between his silent friends for several pointed moments.

"Good choice," he said, when no one made a selection, "because I've got a better idea."

Harry eyed him sceptically.

"There's a Muggle village across the river," he explained. "Reckon they'll have a shop or cafe open - it's only half three - and-"

Hermione cut him off by loudly slamming her book shut and staring across at him, alarmed.

"It's one thing to nick crops at the edge of a farm, but-"

"Not gonna nick anything," Ron corrected her. "We've got plenty of Muggle money, yeah? I can take the cloak, cross the bridge, duck behind something, and walk out like I'm just a Muggle on holiday."

It was such a quiet, dreary day. They'd hardly seen anyone out and about, even as they'd passed by the outskirts of the Wizarding village, earlier.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea…" Hermione said, but Harry seemed encouraged enough to finally engage in the conversation.

"I'll go with you-" he started.

"No way," Ron almost laughed. "It'll make no difference for me to charm my hair brown and try to blend in, but if anyone spots you, that's it."

"You're not still holding the last time against me, with the Dementors-"

"Course not," Ron waved off. "Just pointless for you to go." He stood and brushed dried leaves off his jeans, tucking his wand into his back pocket and covering the top of it with his jumper.

"Ron, I don't know…" Hermione nearly pleaded, her book now completely abandoned on the ground beside her.

"I'll be gone an hour, tops," he tried to reassure her. "We're down to basically no supplies. Someone's gonna have to nip out at some point, especially while it's still too cold for most of the wild rubbish we were eating a few months ago to grow again yet."

"Then _I_ should go with you," Hermione countered, a bit shrilly.

"It'll be faster on my own, and easier to blend in, y'know?"

He wasn't about to tell her that he'd rather her stay back at the tent, under their wards, where he knew she was safe. That could only end in her refusing to hand over the Muggle money and talking him completely out of going at all.

"Might as well go now," Ron shrugged, "while it's still light out and not pissing down. Harry?"

"Should be okay," Harry said as he stood. "Just… be careful," and he ducked inside to get the cloak.

Hermione eyed him for another moment from the ground before she stood, hugging her arms around her own body and parting her lips to say something. But Harry emerged again and handed Ron the cloak.

"Hermione, charm my hair for me?"

She swallowed and took a tentative step in his direction.

"You don't need me for that," she said, a bit shakily.

"You can see it better, make sure I've got it all," he explained, realising it was stretching a bit, an excuse for her come closer before he left… Somehow, he imagined that he'd feel much better this way, as if her actions, helping him go, would be the same as directly agreeing that he should do it.

He closed half the distance between them, urging her to do the rest. Avoiding his eyes, she stepped up to him and stared at the top of his head for a moment before aiming her wand. He felt his scalp tingle briefly afterward, and Harry and Hermione circled him, checking her charm.

"Looks good. Although maybe you should shave," Harry grinned, eyeing Ron's scruffy, ginger face.

"Oh-" he started, but Hermione swiped her wand over his face, after which he reached up to feel rough hairs still there across his jaw. "What-"

"Matches your hair now, at least," Harry said, glancing sideways at Hermione as Ron bent down to scoop his bag off the ground and sling it onto his shoulder. "Still got the Muggle money in your bag, right, Hermione?"

She pressed her lips together, nodding, before disappearing inside the tent.

"Is _this_ really why you wanted to start camping closer to villages again?" Harry asked, lifting a brow.

"No," Ron laughed, "though that would've been clever of me."

Hermione reemerged and shoved a pouch full of Muggle notes and coins into his hand.

"Cheers."

She looked over her work on his face and hair, one more time.

"It'll be fine," he said, giving her a crooked smile as she avoided his eyes and adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder for him.

* * *

It really _had_ only taken an hour. But, then, he'd been delayed a bit, coming back around the longest way to avoid the pub that had opened in the Wizarding village, a small crowd forming outside. A part of him wished he could risk popping in for some Butterbeers, imagining a lighter mood in the tent that night between the three of them. But, it was a fantasy deeply buried and nothing he could act on. He reckoned the food he'd managed would be enough to lift their spirits, anyway.

The sun must have started setting behind thick cloud when he approached the tent again, still slouching under Harry's cloak, because it took him a few moments to recognise their camp in dimming light and with everything hidden behind their wards. He slid the cloak off his head, and, almost instantly, the wards came down, revealing a tense looking Hermione and a relieved Harry, metres away.

He smiled reassuringly at them as he passed through, watching Hermione circle behind him to set their wards up again.

"Well?" Harry asked, but he didn't wait for Ron's response. "Finite Incantatem."

Harry flicked his wand toward Ron's hair, then his face.

"Oh, right," Ron said, as his skin tingled, hair and stubble returning to its usual colour.

"So?" Harry insisted, eyebrows lifted.

"Went great," Ron answered. "Who's hungry?"

They followed him inside to the kitchen, where, grinning, he emptied a giant paper bag of pies, buns and pasties onto the centre of the table.

"Seriously?!" Harry gawked, eyes wide.

"Granted, it may have been slightly suspicious for one bloke to buy up half a case, but I don't think Snatchers are looking specifically for someone spending too much money at a Muggle baker's…"

Harry grinned, laughing, but Ron's pleasant mood was called into question as he sought out Hermione's eyes. She'd been standing back a bit, silent, and now that he was looking at her, he felt a conflicted wave of discomfort cross through him.

"Hey, you've got to be hungry," he said.

"Yeah, Hermione," Harry added, pulling out a chair to sit at the table before their feast. "Best meal we've had in months."

"It's wonderful," she said, flatly. "Plenty to eat for maybe a week." But she turned away from them, making her way to the loo and tugging the flap shut tight.

Harry glanced from Ron to the loo and back again as he reached for the nearest pasty.

"Any idea what's up?" he asked, as Ron sat down across from him.

"Dunno," he said, though he had his suspicions. "Reckon she wasn't too keen for one of us to risk getting caught just for better food. _But…_ "

Harry grinned, taking a huge, satisfying bite and closing his eyes.

"God, that's delicious."

"Worth it?" Ron asked, grinning back as he picked up a still-warm bun.

"You were careful, no one saw you, and I haven't tasted anything this good since the wedding."

Ron took a bite of his own food and fluttered his eyes shut in bliss.

"Agreed."

* * *

A quarter of an hour later, Harry was outside getting the fire going again, and Hermione still hadn't emerged from the loo. Ron had been contemplating calling out to her for several minutes, conflicted. But, now, he was mostly concerned about her getting a fresh share of the food he'd brought back, thinking how much better she'd probably feel with a full meal instead of scant bites of whatever they could find.

So, he crossed to the loo, decision made, and cleared his throat.

"Hermione?"

There was a shuffle, and then she untied the flap, allowing it to fall slightly open, enough for him to consider it an invitation to come in. He ducked and slipped past the opening, finding her facing away, hands resting on the water basin to his left.

"Hey," he said quietly, but he didn't have a chance to get a second word out before she spun to face him and threw her arms around his neck. She was shaking as she stood on her toes and buried her face in his shoulder.

He flattened both hands to her back, alarmed.

"Stupid," she was muttering. "So stupid."

"I'm sorry, I-"

She ripped back away from him, glaring, and he dropped his arms to his sides, stunned all over again.

"Didn't stop to think how I'd feel if y-you _left_ again, did you."

A weight dropped to the pit of his stomach.

He stared down at her, regret filling him. He hadn't thought of that, at _all_. Should he have? But she'd not tried to stop him, the way she had… _before_. It didn't matter, because he had hurt her now, something he didn't want to do anymore. Ever.

"I wouldn't have gone if you'd asked me not to."

She let out a heavy breath, disbelieving. But he wasn't teasing her, and he only hoped she could see that. Her eyes met his, and she quietly studied him before sighing softly.

"You mean that?"

"Course I do."

She breathed up at him, and he felt totally stuck waiting for her to say something else.

"I didn't think you'd listen…" she said, almost under her breath, "and I didn't think I had a right-"

"When did you stop?" he interrupted, surprised. "I mean… I'm pretty used to you rowing with me til one or both of us apologises…"

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Look, I really am sorry," he went on, and she looked up at him again. "I had no idea it would upset you this much…"

"You _want_ me to fight with you…"

"No. Well…" He scratched his jaw, knowing she was right, in a way. "That's different. I never want to actually hurt you. I feel bloody awful about it, honestly…"

She took a long, deep breath and shook her head again.

"I know I'm overreacting," she said.

"It's fine." He tried to smile, but she didn't seem quite ready for that yet.

"I know we can't hide out here forever," she admitted.

"No, we can't."

"Then, next time you decide to have a stroll around a Muggle village, you should let me go with you."

"Yeah, alright."

Her eyebrows shot up.

"Really?"

"You can do whatever you want. I just thought it would be quicker and easier on my own, and yeah, there was probably a part of me that didn't want you leaving the wards, which was mostly because I'm a prat, but partly because you're Muggleborn, and I dunno. I'm the least likely to have a problem, poking around."

"We've been through this. You're supposed to be home with Spattergroit-"

"My hair was charmed brown and no one, aside from a Muggle shop owner, saw me."

She sighed and closed her eyes again.

"Can we circle back to the part where I'm really sorry I made you worry?" he attempted, and she looked back up him, at least.

"It wasn't just the worrying," she said, softly. "I can't explain it."

"Made you think of how I walked out on you. I get it."

Her eyes softened, and she actually moved just a bit closer to him.

"But, I'm never gonna leave again."

She looked down and reached out, touching the tips of her fingers to his forearm before her hand dropped away once more, and she sniffed.

"I _am_ pretty hungry, actually," she said, quietly.

He smiled, again. And, this time, she returned it.

* * *

Two hours later, they'd cleared the table and had made several meager attempts to coax Harry toward Horcrux conversation, but it didn't seem worth pushing too hard after he'd been in a slightly better mood following their dinner. Harry had requested second watch, which Ron had only protested mildly, once, before shrugging and letting it go.

"What should we do tomorrow?" Hermione asked, scratching notes on a long sheet of parchment, even as she spoke.

Harry remained silent, rolling the Snitch between his palms.

"I was never in any danger," Ron started, shifting his gaze toward Hermione, "but, I should tell you, there were Snatchers lurking around. Wouldn't go outside the wards at night unless we have to."

"Oh, perfect…" Hermione trailed off, her attention fully on Ron now, narrowing her eyes.

He gave her half a smile and cleared his throat, moving on…

"I dunno, nothing seemed that interesting, honestly. Reckon we can stay here a couple of days though, see what happens, unless one of us comes up with a better plan."

Hermione returned to her work as he stood, stretching.

"D'you want first or third?" he asked her.

She glanced briefly up at him, licking her chapped bottom lip.

"You go ahead. I'll just finish this up…" and her writing resumed, eyes darting between several books.

* * *

The darkest nights always felt the quietest, a blanket of velvet cloaking the sky. The clouds had actually cleared away, and Harry had come outside to relieve him, leaving Ron to cross through the sitting room, surprised to find Hermione awake and standing in the kitchen.

She was facing the shelves, folding a worn tea towel, though she glanced back at him, over her shoulder, for a moment, as he approached. Her hair was piled on top of her head, twisted and knotted to keep it off her bare neck. Smooth skin, a freckle just below her hairline…

Maybe it was the silent, still air. Maybe it was the chill that didn't quite ache in his bones anymore, only cooling his body to a pleasant icy touch, enough for the warmth of her bed. Maybe it was two o'clock in the morning, his eyes burning from lack of sleep. But he reached forward, the tip of his index finger contacting her skin just above the collar of her vest… And, when he moved, dragging gooseflesh up, she shivered, her head tilting forward as he reached the wispy hairs at the base of her skull.

He slid his hand up higher, fingers spreading, spider legs disappearing in thick curls.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. She leaned back into his touch, just enough to dispel all questions of whether he _should_ have...

And then, he was wrapping a finger around a loose curl, tugging it free and skimming his hand down her back as he lowered it. It stretched more than halfway to her waist, and he realised that this was the longest he'd ever seen her hair before. He could see her swallowing, before she turned slightly around, only half looking at him, cheeks flushed.

"My hair's such a mess," she said, quietly.

He let go of her curl, and she turned the rest of the way to face him, lips parted as if slightly out of breath.

"S'not what _I_ was thinking," he managed to say, considering it about the best he could do under the circumstances. The thoughts that drifted behind his audible layer were much more wrapped up in something he could internally admit was definitely love.

Yeah, he loved her hair. He loved the way it felt, the way it fluffed around her face, the way she tried and failed so often to subdue it.

"You try figuring out what to do with all this, then," she sighed, tugging it loose from its knot, cascading chaos wandering over her shoulders.

"Is that a real challenge?" he swallowed, watching too closely as she ran her thin fingers through tangled coils.

She released a small puff of laughter through her nose, cheeks colouring a bit more, noticeable to him even in the dim light.

"I've always been jealous of girls with straight hair," she said, "or hair that holds up to charms, which… either I'm just terrible at doing them on myself, or they really don't work for everyone…"

"Why d'you wanna look like everybody else, anyway?"

She gave him a look that bordered on a glare.

"It's probably not something you can relate to… I doubt any of your dormmates ever gave you a hard time about beauty charms…"

"They _did_ that to you?" he asked, repulsed. "Who, Parvati and Lavender?"

Once he'd said the words, he mentally shoved them back down his own throat. Her eyes dropped away from him, and she straightened up, clearing her throat.

"We should go to bed," she said. "It's really late."

And she'd passed by him before he could figure out what to say to stop her.

* * *

He was sitting on her bunk when she finally came over, a quarter of an hour later. He had worked out several things to say, but they seemed to call too much attention to everything, all over again, and now that she was here, he felt the words fade and slowly die…

"Sorry," she said, surprising him.

"What for?" he asked, as she sat on the bed beside him, combing her fingers through her shower-damp hair.

"I thought I was over that whole… Lavender thing."

He was stunned even further by the fact that she'd actually addressed it so directly. It really made sense for _him_ to be the one apologising for snogging another girl for weeks when the person he really wanted to snog was sitting right next to him, about to _sleep in the same bed_ as him...

"Yeah. That," he said, hoarsely, licking his lips.

"It shouldn't matter to me, but it _did_ , and I guess it _does…_ so… I'm sorry."

He laughed through his nose, thinking her apology was quite absurd.

"You know why I did it, don't you?" he asked, hoping like hell that she did, or that she knew enough not to ask for additional details.

"Not really, but does it matter?" She was keeping up a fairly levelheaded demeanor, but he knew better as he looked more carefully, her hands lightly shaking as she tugged a hair elastic off her wrist and clamped it in her mouth, gathering her hair in both of her hands.

"Yeah, it matters," he admitted.

Her hands froze, for a moment, but she recovered quickly, attempting to hold her thick bundle of hair in one hand while removing her elastic from her teeth with the other. But, a quarter of her curls dropped free to hang down her back. Frustrated, she tried again. But, just as she was about to let go, he reached up, clasping his much longer fingers around her gathered hair and holding it all together, easily.

She glanced at him, removed her elastic from her mouth, stretching her fingers inside it and reaching back again. He let go just as she began to wrap the band around the gathered bunch, securing it in a relatively successful ponytail.

"Thank you," she said, impressed with their success.

He smiled and tried to respond, but his hand was now resting on the bed behind her, way too close to her arse. He could move away, or he could try to ignore it, both equally difficult prospects. But, she made his options relatively pointless by turning and crawling fully into bed, behind him, brushing his forearm with her body as she went.

He glanced back, over his shoulder, and then he turned and stretched out on his back, beside her. He could feel her gaze on his profile, resting on her side, facing him.

"You shouldn't have to explain it," she whispered. "You didn't owe me anything."

His increasing pulse was his only indication as to her meaning, finally reflecting back on bits of conversation half-started before they'd gotten distracted. He turned his head to look at her, a longing to kiss her flashing for the billionth time through his whole being.

"But you didn't deserve what I did, either," he whispered back.

"You act like you did it just to hurt me…" she trailed off, and he loathed the consuming feeling of her being way too right, of there being nothing he could truthfully say to oppose her.

His eyes must have told her all his lips had not, because her dismissive expression turned to a watery shock, her own eyes glowing in the faint light trickling from nearly extinguished lanterns.

"It's… complicated," he managed, through a very dry throat.

But then, she did something completely unexpected… her hand reaching for his and holding on tight.

"Does it still matter?" she asked, trembling slightly.

"Because of the war?" He wasn't sure what answer he was hoping for. He could lose, either way. But her next words were once again as brilliant as he knew her to be, in every other way.

"No, because of this," and, still shaking, she lifted their joined hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles.

He laughed, a sort of giddy warmth rising up through him, flooding him. She pressed their hands to her cheek then, eyelids heavy as she looked at him through a thin curtain of lashes. And though he wanted to stay lost, exactly here, forever, he wanted so much more, as well. So, he untangled his hand from hers and crawled his fingers over her shoulder, mesmerised as she moved closer, toward his touch. He draped his arm over her body, and she tucked her hand between their chests, faces so close across her pillow that they were sharing the same breath.

They were caught in a sort of wordless contest, gazing through shadows, unable to look away or close their eyes. But, at last, her blinking slowed, exhaustion tugging her down where they were safe. His hand slid up her back until he felt her warm skin on his fingertips, her foot slid between his shins, and she wrapped her small fist in the worn cotton of his shirt.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:** Touching with fingertips brought to you by my personal experience. I am in love with that feeling. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

He woke up, alone.

It was still quite dark, and he could hear Harry's light snoring from the bunk above his own empty one, to the right. He shifted under a tangle of blankets, contemplating if it would be possible to go back to sleep now, or if he might as well join Hermione outside. As he lay there, regaining full consciousness, it occurred to him that Harry must have seen him in her bed...

This idea rolled over in his mind, and he couldn't place exactly how it made him feel.

First of all, he reckoned Harry must know pretty much everything about how he felt, at least. After the locket, and the words Harry had said… Well, it had been spelled out pretty clearly. And, honestly, for many months, maybe years, he'd felt that Harry had suspected many unspoken things, least of which was that Ron and Hermione's relationship was never the same as his and Harry's.

But, secondly, as much as Ron loved Harry, as much as he trusted him to know more than Ron could put into words, Harry could also be incredibly oblivious to things that happened outside his scope of concern. It wasn't at all that Harry didn't care, but he had a bloody lot of other things on his mind, most of which usually corresponded to a much big picture than whether or not his best friends were sleeping in the same bed… Ron considered that the same could almost definitely be said about himself, only he had much less of an excuse…

But then, the third conflict was in hoping that Harry wouldn't feel as if they had left him out of some decision by not sharing with him- ...but sharing _what_ , exactly?

He sat up and ruffled his hair with his hand before attempting to push it mostly flat. There wasn't anything to _tell_ because he literally didn't know what he would say if someone asked. A part of him had given up that need to have each word spoken, having felt many things between them now that he couldn't have possibly explained before he'd experienced them. But there was still an aching curiously for the things he wished he could let go, for her. She didn't want to talk. Not yet. He couldn't ruin that.

He wasn't going to sleep again. He was sure of that now. So, he climbed out of bed, stretched, and pulled on the nearest cloak, blinking tiredly and making his way outside.

* * *

They'd been sitting in relatively comfortable silence, as the sun began to rise. And the only thought that swirled nervously in his mind was whether he ought to ask her about Harry. She'd not given him any reason to think she'd even considered what Harry might think. And this made him second guess if he should even care, in the first place. He wasn't going to get it off his mind, though… without getting it of his mind. But he wasn't entirely used to doing this sort of thing, to say the least, so it took him quite a while to come close to working up to it… long enough that the sun was fully up and they could go inside whenever they liked, so, it really was his last chance.

"Harry probably saw me in your bed."

"And?" she said, yawning.

He laughed, satisfied that this was the longest lead up to the shortest conversation they had ever had.

"That's it," he smiled. "Hungry?"

She blinked before grinning back at him.

* * *

By mid-afternoon, there was a sort of dreary air of listlessness about the tent, and no one had had any sudden revelations of what they should be doing next. So, they'd taken to flipping through notes and books they'd (she'd) already read, countless times over. Harry had just wandered outside to get some air, and Hermione had been sitting, silent, in the same spot on the sofa for so long that Ron had almost forgotten she was still in the room. She sighed, sliding her notes off her lap and closing her eyes briefly.

"I might take a nap."

"You alright?" he asked, from his position sprawled on the floor nearby.

"Just tired."

"Me too," he admitted, realising that he hadn't been fully comprehending what he was reading for the past quarter of an hour at least.

"Do you want to come with me?"

He glanced fully up at her, finding himself more surprised by her question than he probably should be. It was quite a different thing to imagine sharing a bed in broad daylight than it was to hazily climb in next to her in the dark. He realised, though, that he'd probably hesitated long enough for her to second guess her question, which was the last thing he wanted.

He stood and stretched.

"Might as well," he said, through a yawn. "I've read the same paragraph about forty times and couldn't tell you what the hell it's about…"

She stacked her notes in a neat pile and got up to lead the way to her bunk. Once there, he toed off his shoes and slid them under his bed, wondering if he should take off his jumper. But, before he could commit to it, she was tugging her own jumper over her head, her messy ponytail frizzing with static. Her vest briefly stuck to worn wool, revealing a strip of her skin up to her belly button before she yanked it back in place again, tossing the jumper to a narrow wooden chair at the end of her bunk.

He reminded himself to quit staring and breathe, a feat mostly only accomplished by distracting himself with working his own jumper off his body. But, when he emerged, _she_ was staring back at him, and he dropped his jumper to his bunk, adjusting his own shirt back down over his bare stomach.

She licked her lips, flushing, and reached up to tug her hair elastic free from her ponytail. Thick curls fell in tangled rivers over her shoulders and down her back.

"Could you hold this for me, for a second?"

She extended her arm, and he held out his hand as she dropped the elastic band to his open palm. Then, she turned around and climbed into bed, shifting far away from the edge and tugging down her blankets from his side. She glanced up at him somewhat expectantly before shyly looking away and running her fingers slowly through her hair. She reached a tough snag as he finally moved to get in next to her, lying on his back as she remained sitting up, working on her curls.

He stretched the elastic in his hand between two fingers, then twisted it, absentmindedly playing with it as he watched her.

"I feel like we're wasting time, out here, but I don't know what to do about it," she said.

"Yeah, but that's how it goes, innit?" he rationalised, thinking back, as he slid her hair elastic onto his wrist. "We did this almost every year at school, if you think about it. There'll be some big thing like infiltrating the bloody Ministry, and then nothing but lessons and revising for a few months til a new thing hits us."

"That's true…" She paused her work on her hair and lay down on her side, facing him, as he flipped to his side to face her, too.

"We just notice it more out here," he continued, "because there's nothing to distract us."

His statement rang in his ears, the moment he had said it, as almost hilariously untrue. He could find about a million distractions, just looking back across her pillow.

Her tired eyes, smooth skin, wispy hairs at her temples… the curve of her neck, two freckles on her collarbone, her fingers curling as she rested her hand in the space between them.

"Sometimes…" she started, staring back at him, "I forget, for a minute, that there's even a war going on in the first place."

"Yeah."

He could forget, right now, actually.

For several stretched minutes, they were silent, and he thought of how incredible it was that weeks ago - less than, really - he'd never have made it half so long in her gaze. Their eyes would dart away, they'd find something else to pull their attention, like the tension was too strong, so much that it could lead someplace scary and unknown. Now, he was drowning in it.

Eventually, her heavy eyes shifted, and she gathered her blankets over her body, burrowing.

"It's really cold today."

He copied her, adjusting blankets up over his shoulder, the side of his face pressing deeper into her pillow. She blinked at him, then grinned, reaching her hand up toward his head. He held his breath as he waited to see what she would do, and then her hand was in his hair, and he shut his eyes, almost involuntarily.

Two seconds later, he figured out her intentions, and he smiled, eyes still closed. He must have ruffled his hair comically as he'd been burying himself in her blankets, and she was fixing it for him, her short nails raking gently against his scalp. Speaking of distractions…

When the lulling sensation of her fingers in his hair subsided, as she finished her project and removed her hand, he cracked open his eyes and shuffled his legs closer to hers, finding a blissful pocket of their combined body heat. She cleared her throat lightly, shifting further under her blankets until the folded hem of one rested against the side of her neck, and she closed her eyes.

For what felt like a very long time, he was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep, but then-

-suddenly, an hour had passed, and he was opening his eyes to her sitting up in bed beside him, reading a book. He sniffed, and she glanced down, before reaching for a familiar sheet of parchment.

"Had a brilliant idea in your sleep?" he asked scratchily.

"I've added a few Patronuses," she said, holding the parchment out for him as he propped himself up on his elbow to look.

"More than a few," he pointed out, brows shooting up as he scanned over a dozen new names in her neat penmanship.

"Where did we leave off with Hufflepuff's cup?" she asked, changing the subject as she brushed several pages further forward in the book sprawled across her lap.

"Just that we've got no idea where the hell it is," he yawned.

"Helga Hufflepuff was Welsh, yes? Maybe we ought to look around there."

"Start at one edge and work our way across the country?" he joked, sitting the rest of the way up.

"I don't see _you_ with any better ideas…"

"Reckon 'something from Ravenclaw' leaves us with a lot more ground to cover than 'the country of Wales,' so sure, let's go."

She stabbed him distractedly with the blunt end of her quill before sticking it in her mouth in contemplation, eyes darting across a thick chunk of text she'd landed on. His own eyes fixed on her lips, pursed around the same object that had just made direct contact with the bare skin of his forearm. Immediately deeming this a very bad path to skip down while sharing her bed in the middle of the day, he shoved back her blankets and threw his legs over the edge of the bed to get up.

"Might as well check the maps again," he concluded, a slight hum of vague affirmation all that she gave him before he made his escape.

* * *

Thunder was rumbling by nightfall, distant and spaced far apart, and the tent found the three of them once again surrounded by notes and books.

Ron sniffed, absentmindedly spinning Hermione's hair elastic around his wrist a few times. He finally moved to sit up straighter, on the floor, and almost immediately realised how sore and tight his neck had become, from slouching in the same position for what had to have been hours, by now…

He reached up to press the tips of his fingers to his top two vertebrae, working his way up the back of his neck.

"You alright?" Hermione asked in a very underused voice, clearing her throat afterward.

"Eh, just sat too long in the same position."

"We might as well quit for the night," she suggested, rolling her shoulders and arching her back slightly. "Do you mind if I take second watch, Harry?"

"No, if that's what you want," he shrugged.

"I slept some this afternoon," she explained. "Won't need to sleep straight through the night."

"Ron, alright if I take first? I'm still wide awake," Harry asked, shoving his glasses up his nose a bit.

"Go ahead, mate," Ron said, pushing off the floor to stand. "My neck's killing me anyway. Third'll be better."

He glanced toward Hermione, who was sliding sheets of parchment into books as placeholders, before heading toward their bunks to retrieve his pyjamas.

* * *

He'd showered, which had only given him temporary relief under hot water, and now he was sitting in the middle of her bed, waiting for her to join him. He really should have noticed his muscles getting sore before they'd reached this point, and he was almost wincing as he tried to roll his shoulders and ease the tension. He slouched further forward, pressing his fingers to the base of his skull, working his way down.

Suddenly, he felt a weight depressing the mattress, behind him. He lifted his head slightly, about to speak, when he felt two small, cool hands on his neck.

"Do you mind?" she asked, in a slightly shaky voice.

"Uh, no," was about all he could think to say, way too closely aware of her body shifting behind him as the bed moved.

She cleared her throat and squeezed the space between his shoulders and neck in both hands. For a few seconds, he was too tensed up to have any awareness of the intended effects of her movements. But, as her fingers crawled up the sides of his neck, he closed his eyes. A strange sort of pleasurable lightheadedness took hold of him, scalp tingling as her hands brushed through the hair behind his ears, working their way back down.

She tapped the right side of his head and rested her left hand on his back. Unsure what she wanted, he glanced halfway over his shoulder, in her direction.

"Tilt your head to the side," she said softly.

He did as she requested, and she started working both hands up and down the right side of his neck. He exhaled heavily and closed his eyes again, trying desperately to ignore her body brushing his back a couple of times, her hair tickling his ear as she adjusted her position, her gentle breathing… so close to him.

She kept going, in silence, eventually switching sides.

"Where does it still hurt?" she asked, after a while, her hands still resting on him.

"Can't tell, anymore. Feels amazing…"

"Good," she said, slightly hoarse, all of a sudden. Very gently, she released him, sniffing.

He opened his eyes, finding the lanterns dimmed considerably, a sleepy darkness surrounding them. And then, a thought he considered rather brilliant occurred to him. He shifted around to face her.

"Right. Your turn."

Her cheeks were already flushed, but they coloured a bit darker at his suggestion, and she laughed, shaking her head.

"You don't have to-"

"Only fair," he interrupted, lifting a brow. "What hurts?"

She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, staring back at him.

"Well, alright…" she finally concluded. "My hand's a bit cramped from taking so many notes today."

She squeezed her right hand into a fist, and he glanced down before narrowing his eyes at her.

"What were you doing rubbing my neck, then?"

"That didn't bother it," she smiled, shrugging.

"Well, let's have it."

He held out his open palm, waiting. She laughed shyly through her nose before dropping eye contact and resting the back of her hand on top of his. He brought his other hand up to join in and pressed both thumbs to the centre of her palm. She sighed, eyes slipping shut.

It was probably unfair that he got to see her face now, while he'd been able to hide from her, in reverse.

He kneaded his thumbs around her palm for a few more seconds before working up each of her fingers, trying not to be so distracted by her parted lips and flushed cheeks that he forgot what he was supposed to be doing. They seemed to keep finding reasons to touch each other - not that he was complaining, far from it. But he was starting to question how much closer they could get before the words he'd held back wouldn't actually make any difference for what they were to each other… Maybe it was still important, the reserving of something guiding a sort of mental stimulation, a reason to push beyond what was comfortable. She'd thought so, at least.

He'd finished with her hand but didn't really want to let go of her. His fingers stilled on her now-warm skin, and she opened her eyes. He wished he could stop from noticing, but as she took a deep breath, the very top decorative edging of her bra was visible over the scooping neck of her vest.

"What else do you need?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly.

He mentally smacked himself for dropping everything into the nearest gutter. Though he was also fairly certain Hermione wasn't about to give Harry a neck-shoulders-whatever-else-he-wanted massage…

"I'm good," he tried to say convincingly. He thought he might have pulled it off, but either he hadn't, or she didn't care. She reached up and squeezed his right hand in both of hers, flexing his fingers as he half-smiled at her. "You're gonna undo all the hard work I just did," he teased.

"You can do my back next," she sniffed, clearly using the pretense of focusing on their hands to keep from having to make eye contact.

He tried to shift his eyes to several different "neutral" places, but he was quickly discovering that, whilst being carefully touched by Hermione, "neutral" wasn't a term he could apply to much of anything. Her bent knees, close to his shins; gooseflesh peppering her bare arms… impossibly smooth skin, up the curve of her jaw…

His hand felt incredible, her thin fingers ironing every achy spot he hadn't known existed. He hoped it had felt even half this good for her.

"Your turn," he said, scratchily, mostly because he wasn't sure how much longer he could sit so close to her, hands on him like this, and not-

-make a mistake, he reminded himself.

She licked her bottom lip and let go of his hand.

"It's really cold in here again."

"Get under the blankets," he suggested, which she did right away, tugging them down and settling underneath, on her stomach. He shuffled halfway in, next to her, on his knees, watching as she swiped her hair to one side, exposing her partly bare upper back to him.

He realised, immediately, that his attempt to keep from kissing her moments ago had only resulted in an even more difficult task: he was going to have to touch her skin, a _lot_ , and not make a sound…

Usually, when something difficult arose at school, he'd put it off as long as possible. But, today, he thought he'd take her repetitive advice about not procrastinating more seriously. He reached up and laid his right hand directly against the exposed skin that curved between her neck and her shoulder. He literally felt her body tense and heard a faint gasp, muffled against her pillow.

His hand easily covered her whole shoulderblade, and he brought his left hand up to the other side, squeezing her gently. Once again, he was quite glad she couldn't see his face.

He worked his fingers halfway down her spine, over her vest, and back up to so much exposed skin, moving his hands symmetrically out to the curves of her shoulders and back inward to mold up the sides of her neck. She made a sound crossed between a squeak and moan, and he froze. She cleared her throat.

"Thanks for this," she whispered, barely audible against her pillow.

"You started it," he grinned at the back of her head, moving his hands again.

After a few moments, he'd run out of patterns for his hands to work and had absentmindedly started tracing his fingertips softly over her skin instead. He noted, almost immediately, that her back and neck had begun to break out in noticeable gooseflesh. So, he continued.

She shivered, and he stopped for long enough to change his position, lying down next to her. She started to turn off her stomach, her back toward him as she moved to her side, but he placed his hand on her shoulder again.

"Sorry, thought you'd be warmer if I got under here and moved your blankets," he explained, lifting his hand off her shoulder again to tug her blankets up the side of her body.

"Oh," she said, a good bit higher pitched than usual.

He swallowed and resumed his former motions, fingertips feathering across her skin.

"That's really-" she broke off, lightly trembling. "I have to show you what that feels like."

"S'alright, then?" he raked through his dry throat, but she acted her response, rather than confirming in words again.

"Give me your arm," she requested, back still toward him. He adjusted closer to her, enough to drape his arm over her side. She placed her fingertips very lightly on his forearm and began to slide them so softly up and down. He choked on his next inhale and shut his eyes.

"God…"

His arm broke out in gooseflesh all the way up to his shoulder.

"Yeah," she said, and he could hear her smile.

He breathed deeply for several minutes as she touched him, her hair bunched up at her shoulder, tickling his face… before he remembered he was supposed to be touching _her_.

"Distracted me," he mumbled, as he retrieved his arm and returned to her back. She buried down a bit in her pillow as he resumed.

"Sorry," she whispered, not sounding at all sorry.

Though his heart had been pounding at so much skin contact, he now found himself being slowly mesmerised and tugged toward sleep. Wild tangles of her hair slipped away from her shoulder to hang down her back, and he began running his fingers gently through them, not fully aware of what he was doing.

"How's your arm?" she asked, quietly, after a while.

"Hm?"

"From where you were splinched," she clarified.

"Oh, that? Hardly notice it."

She sniffed and adjusted her legs under the blankets.

"Did it…" she started, in a slightly shaky voice. "I mean, I'm sure you have a scar."

He'd honestly not really thought about it. But, now that she'd mentioned it, he had to wonder why it seemed to still upset her. It really hadn't been her fault. And she'd probably saved his life.

"Dunno. You can look if you want. It's not a big deal."

She started to turn around, and his hand dropped away from her to rest on the bed between them.

"I haven't seen it properly since before- ...before you left."

She flipped over the rest of the way to face him, and he swallowed, really wishing he could make her forget it. She didn't need to worry about the past anymore than he wanted to slide back down to regret about his own choices.

"Here." He sat up and reached over his shoulder to tug his shirt from the back, over his head. He caught her slightly widened eyes skipping down his body as he turned slightly to show her his left arm, neck and ears warming a bit.

She seemed to take a minute to remember what she was looking for, fist clenched in her blankets. But then, finally, she sat up, half next to him, half behind him, and reached up, tips of her fingers touching his upper arm, just below the indentation and scar that remained from having a chunk of his flesh ripped out.

"It's not… so bad," she said softly.

"Told you."

Her fingertips brushed a bit higher, and he held his breath.

"I thought you might die," she confessed, shuddering a bit, "when I saw all that blood, and your face was so pale…"

"Isn't it usually?" he teased, but she could only give him the hint of a smile, still staring at his arm.

"I kept thinking… if I'd just managed to tell you where we were going when we had to change course, or if I'd thought to plan an alternate location ahead of time in case we were followed-"

"There's no way anyone can ever plan for every bloody possibility. You were brilliant getting us out of there. Reckon Harry and I had no idea why we didn't stop at Grimmauld Place, but you were quick enough to figure it out. Saved our lives then, saved my life with the dittany. You've got no reason to feel bad."

She finally looked up and met his eyes, and he gave her a lopsided smile before she sighed and dropped her hand from his arm.

"I still have nightmares of you covered in blood."

His chest clenched, but then a few choice images of her screaming after him as he ran into the rain flooded through him. He shook them loose, reminded of her admission by the exhausted sadness glazing her eyes.

"Recently?"

"Not really. Not since…" He couldn't tell for sure, in the dark, but she seemed to flush a bit. "Not for about a week."

He started walking backward in time to that marker of a week ago, but he stopped himself short, thinking he probably shouldn't focus too much on it. Not yet.

They were briefly distracted from each other by a startlingly nearby crack of thunder, and Hermione lay back down on her side, facing away from him, pulling her blankets up to her shoulders. He joined her, leaving space between them as he stared, through the dark.

He shouldn't've, but he was tired, and the rain was lulling him as it began to fall in sheets against their tent. So, he imagined… what it would feel like to move closer, press his body tight against hers, arm around her waist, her bare shoulders against his bare chest...

He reached a hand behind his back for his shirt, discovering that it must have fallen off the bed, to the floor. He reckoned he should probably get up and find it and put it back on… but he couldn't work up the interest or energy to be bothered. He actually preferred to sleep without a shirt, only it had been fairly cold, of late, tonight especially… on top of the obvious fact that he wasn't accustomed to sleeping half-naked next to Hermione…

For approximately half a second, he considered if he should ask her if she minded, but that seemed to draw far too much attention to the whole thing, so he gave it up. He wasn't convinced she hadn't already fallen asleep, anyway. But then, as if reading all of his thoughts at once, she turned onto her back, eyes flashing up to his own before retreating. He couldn't move or breathe or speak as she reached for his right hand, drawing it over her body and flattening his palm to her stomach.

He was on the cusp of a small heart attack when she rolled back to her side, holding his hand in place so his arm draped over her, tucking the back of her body almost completely against the front of his…

He shut his eyes and sought a steadying breath, sliding his right knee a bit further forward than his left, a half-arsed measure against her waking up to _feel_ all the filthy things that were flooding his subconscious. The skin of her upper back was a breath away from his naked chest, he was drowning in her hair, and… she moved a foot, heel against his shin, up and down, exactly twice.

He remained frozen in time for what could have been hours, though he knew better. Her delicate, softly audible exhales came less frequently, more drawn out. And, at last, with the ominous cracking of thunder overhead, the chill outside their cocoon fading into distant space, he focused on calming the rapid beating of his heart until he was no longer conscious.

* * *

He woke to a depression of the bed, beside him, aware of it before he'd opened his eyes. The room was still dark, but she was climbing into bed with him. He'd evidently rolled to his back, at some point, and now she was tucking in on his right side, closest to the outside edge.

"Hey," he said in such a scratchy voice that he wasn't sure she had heard him til she smiled.

"Hey."

He noticed that the rain had stopped, silence drifting around them, apart from Harry's light snoring. Harry.

Now mostly awake, he had pieced things together.

"Your watch over?"

"Mm hm," she whispered, settling on her side under the blankets. "But I wasn't coming to get you. Just wanted to warm up for a second. I'll go back out. Go to sleep."

"Nah, I'm up now," he said, turning to his right side to face her, smiling across the pillow at her.

"Sorry I woke you," she said, but she smiled back as he shook his head.

"You're _supposed_ to. I recall you threatening to hex me if I let _you_ sleep through again…"

"Planning to hex me, then?" She pressed her lips together, eyes darting between his.

"Might be…" he grinned.

He really didn't want to do it, but he had to rip off the plaster before he was dragged back to forgetting what they were out here for. So, he sat up, drew back the blankets and crawled to the foot of the bed, as she bent her knees up to give him room to escape.

He stood, before remembering that his shirt was on the floor, locating it and bending to retrieve it, tugging it on over his head and searching for a clean jumper. He noticed that she'd rolled to her back and was quietly watching him. So, he snatched his jeans from the foot of his bed, slung a cloak over his arm, and headed to the loo to finish changing, remembering her comments from a few days ago. Not that he'd ever deliberately changed clothes in front of her while he'd known for sure that she'd been awake. But, there was a part of him that felt oddly natural about it now, like he probably would have done it, just then, had her words from before not been swarming in his mind. At least he couldn't remember his dreams, and she'd been gone for hours. He didn't have anything to hide...

Once dressed, he made his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea and headed for the tent entrance. The fire was out, so he set down his cup on a large, flat rock, rolling up his jumper sleeves to rearrange charred logs… noting, with a grin, that her hair elastic was still looped around his wrist.

* * *

He was sitting, silent, sipping the last of his tea, when the tent flap moved… and Harry emerged.

"You're up early," Ron pointed out, as Harry crunched through dried leaves to sit close by. The sky was still dipped in darkness, velvety black just beginning to make way for hazy purple.

"Thought I'd give you some company," Harry sniffed, and Ron nodded, pleased to spend some time just existing, before the realities of a new day would fully roll in.

"Sleeping any better?" he asked, quietly.

"A bit," Harry said, stifling a yawn to the contrary. But Ron smiled, content with Harry's presence, no need to talk.

The tent flap drew back again, revealing Hermione, hunching inside an oversized jumper and carrying a tartan blanket.

"What are _you_ doing awake?" Ron asked, following her movements with raised eyebrows as she emerged completely and sat next to him, opposite from Harry.

"What's the point sleeping any longer? It'll be dawn soon enough," she said hoarsely, sniffing.

"We should probably go back to sleeping through each other's shifts," he grinned, and he glanced between Harry and Hermione, both of which simply smiled at each other and shrugged.

The fire he'd started provided just enough warmth and light to be mesmerising, and they fell into comfortable silence together, as Hermione stretched her blanket across all three of their laps. There was enough distant light, after a few more minutes, to make out the thickening tree line clearly, and he considered that they ought to move the tent today or tomorrow. He'd ask them. Later. But, for now, he just wanted to enjoy it.

Like they were simply three best friends on a camping holiday. Like the world was as far away as he could make it seem, sometimes. Like all he needed was Harry's casual presence and Hermione, slipping her hand slowly into his beneath her blanket.

And, with the crisp morning air gently brushing across his face, the two people he loved more than anything else on either side of him, the sky slowly faded from inky purple to a brilliant watercolour of soft pink and orange and blue.


	8. Chapter 8

They were trudging through thick mud, boots caked to the laces by the time the sun was trying to set, straight ahead, through cracks in the slowly dispersing clouds. They were several kilometres away from the nearest village, but at least their food supply was lasting, for the moment.

He knew she just wanted to feel like they were doing _something_ , like at least if she could find a thin thread of a reason to be here, it would give them hope. So, he'd convinced Harry to trek south again, arriving at the centre of a rocky valley without a lot of tree cover. Now, they were searching for a spot of dry land to pitch the tent, and he was very much looking forward to warming a few pies over the fire and stripping off his wet socks.

Something moved, to the left, and he stopped dead, Hermione bumping into the back of him and sucking in a breath to say something. But he reached back and grasped her jumper sleeve, silencing her, as Harry froze next to her.

"What-" Harry started.

"Shhh… saw something," Ron whispered. "Don't move."

Harry and Hermione's eyes followed Ron's unblinking stare, waiting. After a few frozen seconds, Hermione leaned in closer.

"Where?" she breathed, very slowly drawing out her wand.

"Behind that big rock, halfway up," Ron whispered back, his own fingers already clasped around his wand, still halfway buried in his back pocket.

For several more seconds, nothing happened. But then, suddenly, a flash of red sprinted from the overgrown grass near the big rock to a small cluster of boulders several metres to the right.

"Sodding Red Caps," Ron hissed, glancing down at Hermione who flashed her wary eyes up to his in confirmation.

"That blood looks fresh," she pointed out.

"We should try somewhere else," Harry suggested, clustering closer to the other two.

But there was a second flash of red, much closer to them, before anyone could move again.

"Stupefy!"

Harry's spell hit the Red Cap in the centre of his forehead, and he collapsed backward, to the ground.

"Oh, now you'll have hacked them off…" Ron shifted nervously, throwing his gaze back toward the rocks above.

Harry took two steps away from Ron and Hermione, toward the stunned Red Cap, Hermione reaching for the hem of his jumper in mild panic. But she was unable to get ahold of him before he'd moved out of arm's reach.

"Harry, leave it!" she pleaded, but he bent slightly forward.

The little elf-like creature's eyes were still open, ominously staring up, his hat completely coated and soaked through with blood, still drying.

"Right," Ron said, roughly. "Let's get the hell out of here, Harry. Seriously."

He clasped Hermione's jumper sleeve a bit tighter in his fist, impatient for Harry to come back. He was on the point of calling to Harry again when Harry finally stepped backward, rejoining them. Hermione linked her free arm with Harry's, and Ron released her sleeve to grab ahold of her wrist…

"West coast," she instructed, and then they were Disapparating.

They landed in the centre of a flat expanse of rock, small streams of fresh water cutting curving paths over it… and it was absolutely pissing down. Within two seconds, they were completely soaked through.

"Much better!" Ron announced, sarcastically. "Is there any ruddy place left where it's both not raining _and_ not infested by blood-thirsty elves?"

"I give up," Hermione sighed. "If either of you has a better plan, let's have it. Otherwise, let's get the tent up and dry off."

Harry pushed his drenched fringe back from his forehead and adjusted his glasses. She was right - they didn't have a better idea, and they were hungry and wet and cold and-

"How about there?" Harry pointed halfway up a nearby, sloping hill, where a relatively flat, rocky space was jutting slightly out.

"Good as anything else," Ron shrugged, and they began their ascent.

* * *

Half an hour later, they had pitched the tent, secured the wards, and were pulling off soaked cloaks and muddy boots.

"I think I'll have a shower," Harry said, tugging off his socks and making his way for the loo.

Hermione was shivering as she headed for their bunks, and Ron stripped off his jumper and shirt in the middle of the sitting room, tossing them in a heap on the floor.

"Have you got clean clothes?" she called out to him.

"Think so." He shoved an arm into his rucksack and emerged with a dry shirt, pants, and pyjamas. "All good," he called back.

"Lucky," she said, walking back out. "Everything of mine's either wet or muddy or both. Much rather wait til the rain stops to wash clothes…"

"Hang on," and he reached into his bag again, pulling out another clean shirt. "You can have this, if you want. You're way too small for my trousers, though…" He paused, remembering something and grinning. "Well, maybe you could make those tight jeans work, if you roll them up."

She rolled her eyes, which lost its intended effect by the fact that she was simultaneously stifling laughter. She moved close enough to take the offered shirt from him, eyes glancing down his naked torso for a moment. She cleared her throat.

"This might be big enough that I won't need anything else. Thank you," and she turned to head back to their bunks.

He stared after her for several seconds, stunned motionless by the concept of Hermione, wearing his shirt… and nothing else...

Oh, and then he'd have to _sleep_ next to Hermione, in his shirt, and nothing else, and not make a fool of himself. Fuck.

"Could you stay out there?" she called out, no longer in sight. "I'm changing here since Harry's in the loo."

He took a couple quick seconds to recall how speaking worked before shouting his response.

"Got it!"

He closed his eyes and swore under his breath.

* * *

It wasn't really… that bad.

His shirt fell to halfway down her thighs, and she'd worn shorts shorter than that, over summer holidays. But… this was different.

It was stupid, she rationalised, because she _could_ satisfactorily Scourgify her pyjamas and one of her own shirts, to wear to bed, without going outside. But then it was also stupid, she rationalised again, to feel so nervous. He'd slept _shirtless_ , the previous night. God, if she'd lived through that, she could certainly live through this.

The honest truth was that she probably wanted to take things a bit further. She wanted the same hands that had touched her back for bloody half an hour the night before to cover her thighs and-

She exhaled shakily through her mouth and tugged his shirt a bit further down her legs. She couldn't really believe that he'd been sleeping in her bed for a week already, and that she honestly couldn't see why she would ever want to sleep alone again…

But, this was where it got so ridiculously complicated. She'd had this image in her head for months now, this little vision. The war was over, he would find her someplace quiet, and he'd kiss her. That was all. Nothing fancy, extravagant… no lengthy explanations about the past, no planning for the future. Just that moment. And she knew all she needed to know, with only that. Everything else didn't really seem to matter, anymore.

She held onto her dream like grains of sand slowly slipping through her fingers. She wanted to hold on tighter, only she was too afraid she'd lose it quicker, that way. And what she faced, now, was the aching conflict of both wanting him desperately every second of every day and wanting the moment to stretch for as long as it could, til the end. Somehow, it felt like her life hinged on it. She had cast it so far forward, that when she envisioned it, night after night, it gave her the strongest hope she could imagine. Not the kind of hope she'd had all along, that they were capable, that they _had_ to be, together. This was so much more - it came from her alone.

She sensed that she would be faced, often, with recalling why she felt the need to hold back, to pull him closer but never close enough. She would be faced with choosing, again and again. And she wasn't sure how many more times she could successfully resist. Especially now, knowing what she did- ...it felt almost impossible, but she _knew_. He really, _actually_ , wanted her. _Ron_. Her best friend.

God.

It flashed through her head, too quick to push it back, that she was relatively confident now that if she kissed him, told him she loved him- ...alright, maybe she wasn't so sure how he felt about _that_. But, if she told him she _fancied_ him, she was fairly certain he would return it. If she let everything go, she could be with him, skin to skin, his body covering hers…

Forget the fantasy, she thought, because she didn't even need it. She was close enough now that it might as well be real. His shirt, now covering her body… it _smelled_ like him. _She_ was going to smell like him.

She shuddered out another difficult breath, realising she'd spent far too long hiding away in here. So, she attempted to smooth her hair down with both hands, felt the exact location of the hem of his shirt against her thighs again, and walked back through to the sitting room.

* * *

He'd changed into his pyjamas and shirt and had made himself comfortable on the sofa with a blanket over his shoulders, hair still damp from the downpour, and he was waiting, somewhat impatiently, for three pies to finish warming in the kitchen before he would Accio them over to the plate he'd set down on the side table. Hermione appeared around the arm of the sofa, and he swallowed. His shirt did cover her fairly modestly, he reckoned, and it wasn't revealing a lot that he hadn't seen before… but it was entirely different witnessing bare legs emerging from the bottom of a shirt he'd worn countless times over his own body…

"Cold?" he asked, when his eyes had to flick away from her as she rubbed her legs together.

"A bit."

He lifted his left arm, blanket in his hand, and she moved to sit in the space he was offering, tucking her legs up and tugging his shirt over her knees. He dropped half the blanket over her shoulders as Harry emerged from the loo.

"Been so busy worrying about Vol-"

"Don't!" Ron interrupted roughly, loud enough to make Hermione flinch next to him. Harry sighed but moved on.

" _-You-Know-Who_ , that I forgot we had to worry about unrelated threats as well." He collapsed into an armchair. "Red Caps, seriously? Wild ones are way scarier than the lot we dealt with at school."

"What do you suppose they... killed?" Hermione asked, shuddering as she wrapped her arms around her bent knees, hugging them to her chest.

"First bugger I saw looked like it came out of a hole in the ground. Reckon they'd found some animal in a burrow," Ron said.

"We owe you one," Harry said to Ron, slouching deeper into his chair.

"Nah, just lucky I was looking that way when the little tosser showed himself."

Hermione leaned a bit closer to him, her shoulder brushing his arm.

"Who's hungry?" he asked around.

Harry raised a hand, and Ron flicked his wand toward the kitchen. Their pies zoomed out, and he caught them on his plate, just in time. He handed one to Hermione, glancing over at Harry, who cupped both hands in the air. Ron tossed the pie in Harry's direction, and he caught it, creating a bit of a flaky mess across his lap.

"Lazy tonight, aren't we," Ron smirked, before they all fell into silent appreciation of their dinner.

* * *

Hours later, the rain hadn't stopped, though it had fallen off to a sort of hypnotic repetition of steady pattering, which could be drowned out into the distance as they discussed their plans for the night.

Ron had slouched down into the sofa with his feet propped on the coffee table, and Hermione had shifted to lean against the opposite sofa arm, blanket across her body and sock covered feet in Ron's lap.

"I think we should split night watches in two shifts, for a while," she suggested. "Then, one of us can get a full night's sleep, and we can rotate."

"Good idea," Ron agreed. "Six hours each? I'll take first unless someone else wants it."

"Alright, second," Harry yawned.

"Harry," Hermione started, sitting up straighter, "I think you should let me take it tonight. You could use the night off-"

"Why?" He blinked at her and stood, and she gave up, slouching back against the sofa arm. "Anybody want tea? I'll put the kettle on."

"Cheers," Ron said, as Harry headed toward the kitchen.

Once he was out of earshot, Hermione crawled across the sofa toward Ron, sitting on her knees very close to him and leaning in a bit further to speak.

"I don't think he's been sleeping well," she said, quietly. "He's hardly ever in his bunk for long, and when he is, he's just playing with the Snitch or… _thinking_."

"You haven't got clean clothes."

She stared at him for a couple of seconds, evidently not following.

"Gonna sit outside for six hours in only my shirt?" he explained.

"Oh," she said, flushing. "Hadn't thought of that."

"Harry'll have tomorrow off."

"I really should just take care of it now. I was just cold and tired after the Red Caps and the bloody rain, again… I'll just-"

She started to get up, but he halted her with a hand on her arm.

"Don't worry about that. We've got it covered. If it stops raining tonight, I can wash our clothes while I'm outside."

She stared down at him from her position up on her knees, at the edge of the sofa cushion. And he tried to convince himself he wasn't offering just so she'd keep wearing his shirt...

"But Harry-"

"-is gonna be fine."

"Ron," she said, a bit more sternly, as she sat fully back down, and he removed his hand from her arm, "he has to take care of himself."

"Yeah, but he's got to work through his own shit."

She sighed wearily, closed her eyes, and rubbed two fingers against her temple.

"Y'know," Ron laughed, "sometimes we talk about Harry like he's our kid."

Her eyes opened again and shot sideways to meet his.

"I didn't mean _ours_ …" Heat spread rapidly across his cheeks and down his neck. "You know what I meant."

Her curious expression melted to a tired sort of softness, and she nodded.

"I know," she said. "I think I just… It's frustrating getting nowhere, days on end. And worrying about Harry is something… familiar."

"Too right…" he smiled.

She watched him for a moment before leaning down and resting her forehead on top of his shoulder for a second. But she moved back away again before he had time to react.

* * *

Surprisingly, the rain had actually stopped halfway through his watch. Before she'd gone to bed, Hermione had given him two pairs of her jeans and three jumpers, as well as several things from Harry, which he'd washed and dried before his vision had started to blur. Now, he glanced at his watch, bouncing his legs to stay awake another quarter of an hour before Harry's shift began.

Just as he was beginning to think he'd have to get up and pace, Harry emerged, yawning but looking relatively refreshed. Ron blinked slowly up at him.

"Morning," Harry said, sitting next to Ron and stretching his legs out in front of him.

"No offense, but I think I'll start hallucinating if I don't go to bed."

Harry nodded and waved him off as Ron stood, squeezing his eyes tightly shut before opening them again to go inside. He toed off his shoes by the sofa, dropped his cloak to the floor, and tugged off his jumper as he reached their beds, tossing it in the vague direction of his bunk before collapsing into Hermione's bed, on his stomach, tucking his left arm under her pillow. She shifted next to him, on her back, and he caught her alert eyes with his own burning ones.

"Why're y'awake?" he mumbled, face smooshed against her pillow.

She licked her bottom lip and seemed hesitant to answer him. It was only then that he realised she seemed a bit distressed.

"Couldn't really sleep," she admitted.

"You okay?"

"I guess I…" She paused and closed her eyes, shaking her head. "I've just gotten used to you being here."

His stomach did a funny little flip, and he turned onto his side to fully face her.

"Not the first time you've been here alone, though-" He paused, working through his words with a half asleep brain. "-since I've been, uh, sleeping in your bed, I mean."

"I didn't think about it when I suggested two shifts instead of three," she added, softly, "but six hours is a long time."

"Bloody well is. I thought I wasn't gonna make it there for a minute."

"What do you mean?" Her puzzled eyes met his.

"Started falling asleep."

"I should have come out to sit with you," she sighed, shuffling a bit under her blankets and flicking her eyes back away from his.

"That would defeat the purpose, yeah?" He attempted a smile that she didn't see, still staring away from him.

He realised he was lying on top of her blankets, and it _was_ a bit chilly, so he lifted his torso and tugged them down, shimmying them past his thighs until he could tuck up his legs and slide under…

He was immediately reminded, by encountering Hermione's bare legs, that she was wearing nothing except one of his shirts. He froze, on the verge of taking a second to figure out how to go about this, but she turned over on her side to face him, slid her foot between his shins, and moved her head toward his, across the pillow.

"Sorry, I'm just tired," she said, as she swiped her knuckles under her eyes before shutting them and shifting her head to get comfortable. It was only then that he realised she must have been crying.

She'd done enough for him to easily assume that it was okay, but that didn't stop him from overthinking it for a solid minute before he did it. Finally, he reached over and rested a tentative hand on her side, and she opened her eyes again.

She stared back at him, a kind of deep, uncomfortable sadness becoming more apparent to him. And he knew that it was more than her just being tired… more than feeling conflicted over not being able to sleep alone. Fear surfaced a bit, as he painfully wondered if it was him… if she'd let things go too far and didn't know how to tell him. Those bloody words… No matter what, it always came back to them, to the fact that he still really hadn't told her… he couldn't. Was this why she'd stopped him, because she couldn't face letting him down?

"What is it?" he whispered, both far too apprehensive to want the answer and far too curious not to get it, anyway.

She was silent, afterward, for long enough to seize his chest with panic.

"I don't want to lose you," she said, almost without enough breath to be clearly audible.

"What?" His throat was dry, and he was having trouble correcting his course from before. But her words didn't line up with his fears at all. "Why would you?"

"You know why. We're in the middle of a war," she sighed. "It's going to end, living out here."

He watched her eyes glisten as they filled with tears again, and he thought he understood, though why now? They were no closer to answers. They still had time.

"I think we're pretty safe, at the mo'-"

"I don't care about tomorrow," she sniffed roughly. "I care about years from now, when it's over. And I can't stop thinking I'll wake up and you'll be gone-"

"I promised I wouldn't leave again. Please believe-"

"Not like that," she cut across him, features tightening with something like frustration. At least this was better. This was familiar. He could do _this_. "We don't ever talk about it, and I'd honestly rather not, but we all know it - we could… we could die, at any time. And I'm terrified, honestly, because I _can't_ face it. And I don't know how to tell you, or if I even should, but if something happened to you… I don't- I honestly don't know how I'd go on. I can't even picture my life without…"

She couldn't complete her sentence, or she'd decided not to. But he was hanging onto the part she'd already managed. This maybe wasn't just _comforting_ because they were out here alone, because the war could take them at any moment… though he knew it was ironic to be glad considering she was so afraid of exactly that. He shouldn't focus on this bit. He should be able to make her feel better. But all he wanted to do was tell her how amazing it was that she honestly thought this was… _important_.

"I don't want to think about this anymore," she said, before he'd lined up his response.

"So, don't."

She pressed her lips together and shifted the tiniest bit closer.

"It just… happens," she said. "Not _trying_ to think about it."

He recalled a couple of nights ago, when he'd almost _told he_ r, how all he'd wanted was to know for sure that she felt the same. It wasn't that she'd said it clearly tonight either, but how could he keep falling back like this, questioning everything he said and did, when she was here, right now, with him? And then, of course, he did the exact thing he knew was mental… he tried to convince himself it _was_ just stress and nerves and fear. She was here because she had nowhere else to go. But that _wasn't_ right. It really, really wasn't. He'd known it, clearly, moments ago. And yesterday. And probably a bloody week ago. And he knew it still, right now.

"Gotta say," he started, "it's honestly bloody hard to believe that you care this much. I mean… I know you don't want me to die - we're best friends. The three of us… y'know, I can't imagine one of us not being around, anymore. But what you're saying sounds…" He swallowed, backed against Those Words again. "It's just… _more_ than I realised."

"Thought I was pretty obvious," she said softly, a shy expression fading pink across her face as she smiled.

"I take a lot of convincing," he smiled back.

"I probably do, too."

"Yeah, well… Only thing we can do right now is sleep and see what happens tomorrow."

This wasn't a very satisfying thing to say, and he knew it before she flashed her eyes away from his. But he had back up words to add, and it wasn't like he could lose much from saying them out loud.

"And…" He swallowed, moved closer, slid his arm down around her waist, hand resting on her back. "Reckon it's easier to forget about it when we're like this, know what I mean?"

He wasn't sure she did, so he cleared his throat.

"Pretty obvious we're alive and safe if we're literally holding onto each other while we sleep."

She laughed, but it was still so full of desperate sadness. Not that he had any delusions that any words he could say could completely change her frame of mind. But she straightened her legs and slid over until the front of her body was aligned with his, and he knew it would be mad to worry at all anymore that she might not want him here. He allowed her weight to push him over onto his back, her head finding a comfortable spot half on his shoulder, half on his chest, and he slipped his left arm out from under her pillow to touch her back, fingertips over the cotton of _his_ shirt, over _her_ skin.

He found his right hand against her waist, and he paused to question if this was new enough positioning to be as completely nerve wracking as it felt. But he welcomed it as she sighed into him, her leg on him, entirely too far overlapping his. He should probably worry about how she'd find him, when she woke up. He had a sense that if their blankets tangled down below her hips, he'd see far more bare thigh than he'd ever seen before. And this thought was probably going to make an appearance in his subconscious.

He might have done something about it if he wasn't so tired already, her heart beating against his ribs, setting a rhythm for his slow breathing, swirling images of dreams he wouldn't remember tugging him from hazy consciousness to sound asleep in seconds.


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N:**_ _Yeahhhh, so please take note of the rating change. It was inevitable. This story is now M. Enter at your own risk. Nothing explicit (yet), but you have been warned!_

* * *

Her nails dug into his forearm, and he flinched awake, on the point of speaking, alarmed, when he realised she was still asleep. His jolt from unconsciousness had just begun to settle to a now-familiar heart pounding giddiness at waking up in her bed… when she made… a new sound.

A moan, if he was being honest.

He froze, no longer breathing. Her nails were still lightly pinching his flesh, though her lips had parted, her body twisted slightly onto her back, another soft squeak coming out with her next exhale… And the painful sensation that had woken him seconds ago no longer felt at all negative...

He watched as shadows moved with her body, her knee bending as she overlapped her thighs, brushing them together exactly once. His shirt had ridden up to reveal so much bare skin. And she breathed audibly through her mouth, shuddering.

There was no way in hell this was what it looked like. Was there?!

Because it looked like she was having a dream… the kind of dream he never wanted her to know he had about her. Okay, that was wrong. He actually _did_ want her to know, in that sort of loosely distant, hypothetical way that he imagined they might eventually be, where they were totally alone and where they definitely weren't wearing any clothes…

The room was suddenly spinning sideways, and his pants were much too tight.

She loosened her grip on his arm, and he was suddenly, deliriously, compelled to touch her, though he was struggling even to comprehend that he was actually awake, making it impossible to imagine moving his hands, which didn't seem to belong to him anyway, at the moment. Her hair was spread across her pillow, messy twists flowing over her shoulders. As her leg bent another inch, the sole of her bare foot pressed to his shin.

And her eyes popped open.

Unfortunately, he had been staring, hardly blinking, and she found his gaze immediately. Her own eyes widened considerably, and she jolted to sit up, eyes dropping from his in what could only be described as mortification.

Even in the dim dawn light, he could clearly see her face flush deeply, flooding down her neck toward her- her… His shirt had tugged down, and he had a direct view of the swell of her breasts over the top of loose, blue cotton as she breathed erratically.

Her hand was still resting on his arm, and she noticed at the exact same moment that he became much too aware of it.

"Sorry!" she choked, hand absolutely flying away from him to hover in mid-air. "I have to-" She lunged to cross over him, and he narrowly managed to scramble his hips away as she dragged herself out of bed. "Loo!" she squeaked as she darted from the room without looking back.

The ringing in his ears was all he could hear for several seconds. And then, complete silence. Too silent. The loo was metres away, around the flap to the sitting room. Had she _actually_ …

She'd silenced the bloody loo. It was the only answer.

He tried and failed to swallow, suddenly regaining the use of his limbs.

"Fucking hell."

He had to go, now, before she could see him in this… state.

He leapt out of bed, recalling a spot he'd seen outside, in a thick cluster of bushes, that he could reach easily without being too far outside the wards to border on stupidly risky. But then, he flashed to an image of Harry finishing his second shift watch, sitting at the tent entrance, and he reached up to yank an extra cloak down from the bars above his bunk, shoving his arms inside and holding it shut in the front.

"Shit, shit, shit…"

He bolted, ready to forcibly avoid Harry's eyes and hopefully all of his possible questions. As he crossed through the flap, increasing morning light stung his eyes, and he squinted, heading straight forward, toward the thickening woods.

"Hey! Where are you-" Harry started.

"Gotta piss!" Ron shouted, disappearing into the trees.

"What's wrong with the loo?" Harry called out, no longer in sight.

"Hermione!"

Ron continued down a mild slope, fighting through brambles and wincing when a cluster of thorns pricked him easily through his pyjamas. But, he quickly reached the spot he'd wanted, shedding his cloak and swiping his wand in a circle for a quick shield charm.

He flattened his left palm firmly to the rough bark of a thick tree, twitching. He wasn't completely clueless. He knew girls did this, too. But _Hermione_?!

He pressed his forehead to the tree next to his palm, focusing on the feeling of the bark making impressions in his skin. Part of him almost didn't want to do it, prolonging the agony of wanting her, of fucking holding back. There was a torturous element to their relationship, he completely realised, thinking of how often they would stretch a row to keep some burning energy alive, how many times he'd refrained from even an innocent touch, just to go to bed and shut his curtains and close his eyes and _imagine_ he'd done so much more than he could ever dare.

He lowered the heel of his right hand to his aching erection, through his pyjamas, eyes rolling shut as he imagined her cool hand, formerly clenched around his forearm, on him again now… in a decidedly less innocent location. He tried to review his options; though, admittedly, they were quite clouded by the fact that he was fairly certain he'd caught a glimpse of her white knickers as she'd leapt out of bed.

Some distant part of his mind considered that his body was drastically overreacting. She could have been having a different sort of dream, a nightmare, maybe. But the way she'd _looked_ when she'd snapped awake…

Bloody hell. It didn't even need to be about him. That would have been some kind of lottery level bonus. But he'd _been_ there, and part of him was still terrified that she'd one day discover how filthy his thoughts could be… He could at least loosen his grip a bit on that fear, right now.

 _Hermione had filthy thoughts, too._

It was like realising girls were not the same as boys, all over again.

He actually laughed at that, though he simultaneously wasn't sure he could completely feel his feet anymore, either. He really wasn't daft. He wordlessly assumed the other girls he knew weren't innocent. But Hermione was different.

Why? Why was she different?

She was different because… if she had the same thoughts he did, and if she fancied him how he was now fairly certain she might, then… _he might actually be able to do_ _something about it._

 _She might actually **want** him to do something about it._

" _Ohgod_ …"

His eyes clenched shut again, and, immediately, images of her hair falling over her shoulders, her bare upper back, her hand on his chest - and a few scattered in between, outlines of shapes he could only guess - flooded him, filled the darkness behind closed lids.

Should he feel guilty, out here? _She_ hadn't, running to the loo and bloody locking herself in and-

Yep. That was all he needed.

Groaning, he pressed his forehead harder against the tree bark and slid his free hand between his thin stomach and the elastic of his pants.

 _She was kissing his neck, sliding her lips lower, over his collarbone. He reached down and weaved his fingers into her hair, tugging her face back up to crush her lips to his. Her tongue was in his mouth, and when they parted for air, she pressed the front of her naked body to his, thin cotton of his pyjamas all that separated them. And he was growling out curses and her name, meshing them into singular words._

 _He lifted her around the waist, turning to slam her back a bit roughly into the sturdy tree that had just been behind him, moments earlier. She let out a squeak of surprise, but her eyes were dark and full of all the desire he felt pulsing in his own veins._

 _He was suddenly naked, too, and logistics really didn't matter as her legs wrapped around his hips, and she arched her back, threading her fingers behind his neck as he gripped her arse in both hands and- and-_

He slowly blinked open his eyes, taking a long breath to calm down, staring back at the rough bark of the tree, his forehead throbbing slightly. Straightening up, he felt his neck and face flush, realising he needed to clean up before someone came looking for him.

He swept a cleansing spell over his crotch, removed his shield charm, and brushed his fringe down with his fingers, attempting to cover the marks left on his face from the tree. He could really use a shower, actually. Desperately hoping that Hermione had vacated the loo - Jesus, he had to stop thinking about what she'd maybe, _possibly_ , done in there - he snatched his cloak from the ground, vaguely brushed leaves and dirt from it, and wrapped it around himself. It was actually quite chilly out, now that he'd stopped to think about it.

He made his way back up the slope to find Harry still waiting at the entrance. He actively willed himself not to think about what he'd just done as he approached.

"Better?" Harry said with a smirk. "Hermione was looking for you."

At least the loo would be free.

He made a vague sound of acknowledgement in Harry's direction before heading inside. She was sitting at the table, fully dressed, but she stood quickly when he entered. It was extremely rare that he felt such a way, but in that moment, he would have very much liked for her to have completely ignored him.

"Were you calling me?" she asked, and was her voice a bit… shaky?

"What?"

"I heard you shout my name."

His eyebrows shot up, against his will. He frantically replayed the last quarter hour of his life, searching for his own voice. No. He couldn't have shouted her bloody name from the trees… could he have?!

Harry's smirk from moments ago now held a lot more theoretical significance. God, but he didn't remember _doing_ that-

"Harry said something to you, I think," she continued, "and then you-"

"Oh!" Relief washed over him as he put it together. "Yeah, I had to use the loo, so I went outside. Harry asked why I didn't use the one in the tent, so I told him you were already in there. You must've heard me shout your name to explain to him…"

"Oh," she nodded, sounding oddly disappointed as she flushed lightly. "Well, it's free now," and she turned back to the table, eyes focusing on what he considered to be the nearest random book, open to a random page…

But he wasn't going to stand around any longer than necessary. So, he made his escape, focusing on the singular thought of a nice, long shower…

* * *

Candlelight was flickering over rolls of parchment, and Ron was stretched out on the rug, on his stomach, cracking his knuckles. Somewhat to his surprise, Hermione was sitting curled up in the armchair, reading Beedle's stories again, making an occasional tut of disbelief before roughly turning a page. And Harry was rummaging in her bag for something, organising his clothes as he went along, distractedly.

Ron reckoned there were two ways of looking at this. Neither Harry nor Hermione had ever heard Beedle's stories before this year. On the one hand, it might make it easier to believe in something you'd both found out about and had been told might be true within the space of a few months. On the other hand, growing up with the stories in mind brought them closer to home, left you with a sort of nostalgic familiarity. He could practically recite the Brothers verbatim, he'd heard it so many times as a child, though he now realised his mother's version might have embellished a few things for her own amusement. Point was, he could see both perspectives - Hermione's overt scepticism of what amounted to a far-fetched fantasy tale and Harry's willingness to accept new information presented without a childhood background of the story as obviously fiction.

None of that really mattered, though, because it wasn't what they were supposed to be doing. So he looked through Hermione's notes one more time, while she tried to understand Harry enough to talk him out of his obsession… But then Harry was muttering something as he got up and went for the loo, toothbrush in hand, and it was suddenly obvious just how late it had gotten.

"I'd better start my watch," Hermione said, finally closing the book and uncurling from her chair.

He noticed that she couldn't quite look at him as she made her way outside, and it wasn't until he stood to get ready for bed himself that he realised they wouldn't be sleeping at the same time at all that night…

* * *

He stood by their bunks, considering. Harry was already asleep, which he had to admit was a bit of a relief see. Maybe Hermione's idea was paying off and Harry would get a much needed full night's rest.

Which brought to mind his options.

He figured it didn't make much sense to sleep in Hermione's bed when she wouldn't even be joining him. He'd managed to cover his own bed in a random assortment of crumpled shirts and jumpers, inside out socks, and even a couple of thin books. He reckoned he might as well tidy up a bit, so he set to work, shoving clothes into his rucksack, moving books to the chair at the end of Hermione's bed, and recovering his sleeping bag, which she had evidently folded for him, because he had no memory of moving it since the day he had tossed it over to her while she'd been ill. He unfolded it, stretched it out across his bed, fluffed his pillow, and climbed in.

He felt instantly strange, like he was lying there, about to fall asleep, in someone else's bed. This was mental, of course, because the opposite was true - he'd only just _stopped_ sleeping in someone else's bed. Not that he wasn't planning to pick right back up again the next night while Harry was on first watch.

It really shouldn't matter, he rationalised. So, he flipped over, onto his stomach, and buried an arm underneath his pillow. It would probably take a while, but he could work on trying to get some sleep, anyway.

* * *

He slowly opened his eyes, in the dark. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at him.

He tilted his head just enough for his fringe to fall back out of his eyes, and then he half turned over, onto his side, to face her better.

"Alright?" he asked, scratchily.

She nodded once in response. She must be done with her watch, now getting ready for bed.

"My turn?"

"Yes," she whispered, before reaching down to untie the laces of her trainers.

He made his way up to a slouched sitting position, on the edge of his bunk, yawning and tousling his hair with his hand. He saw her gaze flick up to him once before she tucked her legs up into bed and stretched out on her back.

He felt conflict rise as he recalled her words the night before about not being able to sleep when he was gone.

"Hey," he started, as he stood, hovering over her, "want me to stay til you fall asleep? Reckon our enemies can hold off breaking through the wards for a few more minutes."

He grinned lopsidedly at his joke, but she mostly ignored him, finally glancing his way to give him a small smile.

"I'm pretty tired," she said, a bit hoarsely. "You're right… it's hard to stay awake that long on your own. Go ahead, I'm fine."

His conflict only increased, wondering for a moment if he should risk asking again if she was okay. But she blinked slowly and turned over, onto her side, away from him, and he felt that that amounted to a fairly closed door, for now.

"Well," he added, as he started to move away, "you know where to find me."

She may have made a vague sound of affirmation as he left, but it was difficult to tell for sure.

* * *

He really tried not to think about it, for the first hour, but it was bloody difficult to come up with enough distractions to keep your mind busy for six full hours, alone. So, he'd given up, and was now worrying about Hermione.

He thought back over the day. They hadn't spoken much. So, maybe she was more embarrassed about that morning than he'd assumed. But, there were way too many variables to be sure. And even if he could be, there was no way in hell he was initiating a conversation about that. No, he'd just have to hope that she'd feel better when she woke up.

He'd actually gotten fairly used to dealing with that slightly uncomfortable, slightly exhilarating feeling of… well, _relieving_ himself… and then encountering her doing something innocent shortly after, in another room. At school, it hadn't been much of an issue to start with. They'd slept in separate rooms, of course, and most nights he would go for stretches of six to nine hours without seeing her. By the time he'd come down the stairs for breakfast, he'd have gotten over it.

But, out here, sleeping a metre apart, and, lately, literally sleeping against each other… sharing a loo, sharing every bloody inch of the tent and even the small space within their protective ring outside… it was much more difficult to hide and recover. The first few times had been extremely awkward, and he'd panicked irrationally that she would figure him out or worse… _catch_ him. But then, it had just become a part of life, and he'd accepted and almost embraced the feeling of his heart pounding out of his chest when she would glance over and catch his eyes, sometimes even smile at him, mere minutes after he'd just been…

But that was all still _before_. Before he was sleeping in her bed. Before he'd touched so much new skin. Before she'd kissed his hand.

Where were the borders of what he was supposed to do? It was cloudy and confusing, and he really wished he could jump over to an alternate world where he could ask a hundred terrifying questions and know the answers… but then be able to return to life as it was now, if he made a mess of it.

He turned toward a faint sound, behind him. Someone was awake and moving around inside the tent. He was twisted inside his thoughts, and he was cold, and just a bit hungry. So, he figured he could use a few minutes inside to make tea and find a snack and see who was up.

He stood, stretched, and started through the entrance, catching sight of Hermione's hair as she moved away toward the kitchen. He followed her, purposefully making enough noise not to startle her when she turned around.

She glanced quickly over her shoulder before resuming her movements, reaching for a glass and tapping it with her wand to fill it with water. She took a quick sip before turning around and walking toward him… ignoring him and brushing past him.

"Hey," he called after her as he turned around to face her retreating back. When she kept moving, he took two strides toward her and tried again. "Oi, Hermione!"

She sighed and paused in the sitting room, but she didn't turn around.

"What do you want?"

Shit. He was suddenly convinced this wasn't just embarrassment. She was angry about something.

"Right. What'd I do?"

She turned around and met his eyes for less than half a second before sighing again.

"Nothing."

"Convincing," he said, sarcastically.

He was _really_ worrying, now. Things had been so good between them. What had he done to ruin it? Of _course_ , though… he'd vanished for weeks and somehow managed to get back to the point of her speaking to him… smiling at him… wanting him in her bed.

Yeah. He shouldn't be surprised. It was too good to be true and more than he deserved after what he'd done.

"Aren't you supposed to be outside?" she pointed out.

"Yeah, but I heard you in here."

"Well, I'm going back to bed now." She started to turn around.

"Come on, Hermione," he begged. "I don't know how to fix it if I don't know what I did."

"I told you," she said a bit sharply. "You didn't _do_ anything."

"You can see why I'm finding that bloody hard to believe…"

"And can't _you_ see that I don't want to talk about it?" She lifted her slightly narrowed eyes to his at last, but her face _was_ a bit flushed. Probably only because he'd managed to annoy her well past how much she'd already been before he'd called out to her…

"Yeah," he said, simply. She nodded, lingering only for a second before he let her walk away.

* * *

It was just past dawn when Harry emerged. Ron had been pacing a bit, at the tent entrance, partly to stay awake, and probably more so out of obsessing over Hermione suddenly hating him again.

"What's up?" Harry asked, pausing to stare at Ron as he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.

"That obvious?" he sighed, and Harry shrugged. He reckoned he hadn't had enough of a warning that Harry was awake to shift his face from distressed to indifferent… "Hermione's hacked off at me again."

"Oh." Harry sniffed and took a few steps closer to stand next to Ron as they both stared out at the thin tree line, sloping down easily, then sharply, giving them a sweeping view of the wide, flat rocks in the valley below. "And?"

Ron glanced sideways at Harry and laughed shortly, shaking his head.

"Yeah, yeah… I know," he said, "but she's doing that thing where she won't tell me what I did, and it's bloody frustrating. At least, when I left, it made sense for her to hate me. Now, I've got no clue, and that's probably a big part of the problem, innit."

"You've gone weeks like that before though, haven't you? She'll come around."

"Yeah, but… I dunno, I sort of thought-" He broke off and shook his head again, once. He wasn't sure how to talk about any of this yet. He didn't want to go weeks like this anymore. That had been… _before_. Before whatever it was they were doing now.

"Want me to ask her-" Harry started, but Ron glanced sideways at him, cutting him off.

"That's never really worked before, but thanks, mate."

They smiled at each other, and Harry shrugged again.

"You could try the old trick of pissing her off worse until she blurts out the answer you're looking for."

Ron's eyebrows shot up, and he snorted.

"Don't feel like gambling quite _that_ hard today," he said. "She might not speak to me til the effing war's over, if that goes wrong…"

"Well, that 'awkwardly polite' tactic served you fairly well these last few weeks," Harry teased, "though I have to admit it was bloody annoying."

Ron laughed and shoved Harry's arm.

"Watch it. I might try it again."

They both turned to glance back toward the tent entrance at the sound of Hermione moving around and lightly coughing, out of sight.

"Moving the tent again today?" Harry asked.

"Might as well."

And they headed slowly back inside to pack.


	10. Chapter 10

It was actually a clear night, at their new camp, the first one they'd really had in quite a while. He'd suggested they eat outside, even though it was cold, because, honestly, the tent was starting to feel a bit depressing. Out here, they had a rather nice view of the stars, above their clearing, and it felt like the world was a bit bigger than it sometimes did, trapped behind canvas walls.

Harry had just gone in to take care of the dishes and wash up before starting first watch, which left Ron alone outside with a rather tense looking Hermione.

"Good spot," he said, tilting his head vaguely to indicate their camp. She'd suggested this area that morning, and he hoped she'd catch his words as a small compliment. If she did, she didn't give him much indication.

She leaned forward to re-light a bluebell jar for Harry before crawling to her knees and standing.

"Mind if I use the loo first? I could use a shower," she said, sniffing. "I won't be long."

"Yeah, go on," he said, standing up to follow her inside just as Harry emerged again to begin his watch.

"Good luck," Harry mouthed, grinning hopefully as Ron passed him.

* * *

Half an hour later, Ron returned from brushing his teeth to find Hermione pacing in front of her bunk. He stared at her in silence, waiting for her to catch his eyes… which she did, quite quickly, forehead creasing. But before he could say a word, she ducked her head and brushed past him, disappearing into the sitting room, turning the corner for the kitchen.

A part of him wondered if he was supposed to follow her, but he'd gotten the impression she was trying to escape him. Not having a clue what to do, he opted to sit on the edge of his bed in silence, thinking it might be a small miracle if he figured out what the hell was going on before he fell asleep…

Minutes ticked past, and he gave up, stretching out on his back on top of his sleeping bag and tucking a hand under his head.

"I have to apologise to you."

He awkwardly twisted his head up to glance over at the open flap between the sitting room and the bedroom, where Hermione was standing quite uncomfortably. He hadn't heard her returning, lost in thought. And her words didn't make him any less confused. It wasn't that she'd never said she was sorry for anything between them before, but, quite honestly, neither of them would find it a very familiar experience. 'You almost died' had taken the place of 'sorry' on more than one occasion, and the others had been just a bit too embarrassing to face head on.

"What for?" was all he could think to say back.

She took a couple of tentative steps closer before pausing again.

"A lot, really."

He couldn't think of a single thing, aside from ignoring him for the past two days, which he thought was probably _his_ fault, so he sat up to face her, ready to protest, but she spoke again first.

"I made you uncomfortable." Her gaze drifted down, her hair curtaining forward slightly to cast shadows across her face.

"When?" He blinked, thinking back. This was clearly wrong, so he couldn't make a guess what she meant-

"You know when. Yesterday morning."

Okay. It was fair to say that he'd been in… a bit of a state, yesterday. But certainly not uncomfortable. Not in the way he knew she'd meant it.

"I've been frustrated with you for something you can't help," she continued, beginning to pace again, never looking directly at him. "I'm just so… I've never talked about this sort of thing… I shouldn't have gone to bed like that, in only a shirt, and expected you to-" She shuddered, cutting herself off. "Of course you know I've never shared a bed with someone before. And I didn't think about what might happen… being so c-close to you. Most nights I don't even remember my dreams, and, when I do, they aren't particularly pleasant lately. God. I'm just…" She stopped walking and shook her head. "Well, you won't have to worry about it again, now that you're sleeping in your own bed."

He had about a hundred different thoughts about everything she'd said, some of which made his heart feel like it was pounding a hole straight through his chest… but the most pressing one should probably be considered first.

"You don't want me to stay with you anymore?"

Confusion flashed across her face as she finally looked over at him.

"I didn't say that."

He replayed her words, and he couldn't make them mean anything aside from a polite attempt to tell him to give her some space.

"Well, yeah…" he countered. "You sort of _did_ …"

"I didn't tell you to leave, last night."

Realisation dawned, and he might've laughed if there hadn't been so much else on his mind beyond this one small part of what was obviously a much larger misunderstanding.

"Hang on. You thought I didn't sleep in your bed last night because you had a dream and locked yourself in the loo?"

She closed her eyes, clearly too embarrassed to even affirm the question.

"That's…" He paused and shook his head. "Hey, I'm sorry, I-"

"You can't be sorry," she cut over him, opening her eyes again, face a blotchy pink.

"Why not?"

"Because it's _my_ fault."

He knew she'd started this conversation with an attempt to apologise to him, but it made no sense. He wasn't looking for her to be sorry about anything. Frustration took over a bit as he stared up at her.

"But I'm not the one who's bloody upset! You didn't _do_ anything to me!"

"Haven't you been listening?! Before yesterday, we've been sort of-" she gestured vaguely, but he thought he somehow understood. "And you don't know how much it means to me. You wind up doing a lot for other people, and I guess I'm starting to realise that I don't know where that stops. And I just wish I could be different."

He gathered his words for a second, just breathing. If they didn't start making significantly more sense aloud than this, it would be just like all those other times, each of them taking out the fact that they were too afraid to say what they felt on the other person.

"How many times have we both thought something fucking stupid about each other and then found out we were wrong?" he said, watching closely as she licked her bottom lip. "And that bit about you wanting to be different… I have no idea what you're on about, but I can pretty much bloody guarantee you I disagree."

Something sort of hopeful and shy floated up between them as she stared back, but then it was gone.

"I'm just… Ron, I appreciate what you're saying but… I'm just sorry. I don't think you even know what I've been doing."

She twisted the sleeve of her jumper in her hand, and it was then that he realised she was rather overdressed compared to what she had been, lately. He'd gotten way too used to small vests and thin pyjamas… more recently, bare legs…

"What've you been doing?" he asked in a low voice, nervous.

He could tell in every feature of her face, every bit of tension in her stance, that she would rather do almost anything than answer his question. But he could also tell from the way her jaw tightened, her hands clenched into fists, that she was going to answer truthfully, anyway.

"I didn't honestly think I'd never have to tell you, did I," she shivered, words clearly more for herself than for him. "I-I've been… sort of… trying to get you to do a bit… _more_."

He held his breath as he waited, watching her eyes dart as she worked out her next words.

"But… I was hoping you'd just figure it out subtly, and then that stupid, bloody dream."

She shut her eyes tight for a second again, and they watered a bit when she opened them. She hugged her arms over her chest and began speaking so rapidly that some of her words blurred together.

"And I'm afraid I've ruined it because you've been so amazing, and I-I… I just can't stop thinking how I want y-you to touch me, like you did with my back, but morethanthat… and I've gotten used to feeling that way, but I _haven't_ gotten used to you being so close that you could actually _do_ something about it. But you _haven't_. And it's not your fault. But I wish I could be different, because I wish, sometimes, that I wasn't just smart, just someone you're comfortable with and like being around. I wish you saw me like I see you… like my stupid dream."

His throat was so dry by the time she'd finished speaking that he'd need a small lake to fix it.

There were so many things that he couldn't believe and so many more that were so startlingly incorrect that he had no idea where to start. But he had to pick someplace, because she was right _there_ , silent tears were slowly slipping from her eyes, and her face and neck were approaching the colour of a set of Gryffindor bed curtains.

"Well. This is probably the easiest problem we've ever had," he managed first, voice rough and low and, he suspected, making her even more nervous.

"What?" she practically whimpered, and she was evidently finding it hard to go on standing up, because she nearly collapsed to sit on the edge of her bed, facing him.

"You thought I didn't sleep in your bed because I was uncomfortable about your dream, which is completely wrong," he explained. "And now you think I don't… have those sorts of thoughts about _you_ because I've been too bloody careful not to let you find out."

Her drastic change in expression proved how right he was, as her eyes suddenly widened, lips parting… He'd made some stupid mistakes, but this was one of the more ridiculous ones he could recall… recently, anyway.

"But," she lightly cleared her scratchy throat, "yesterday morning, you ran away, and when you finally came back inside, you hardly looked at me…"

Oh, did she ever have the wrong impression about everything. He could fix it, but he had to keep repeating, over and over inside his own head, that she'd already done the hard part and admitted feeling something _more_ than they'd ever addressed.

"Ah, fuck…" He ran a hand roughly over his face. "After… _y'know_ … I went outside and did the same thing you did in the loo."

He'd shocked her into not being able to breathe for a second. Well, he should have known it would eventually come down to something like this. He'd have to tell her, in actual words, and he'd only get there by making her cry first.

"What do you think I did in the-" but she broke off, stunned. Her next words came out as a squeaky whisper. "You knew what I was doing?!"

If he'd needed any more convincing that his honestly vague suspicions about what she had done were correct, he certainly didn't now.

"You used a silencing charm, so… I guessed," he explained, quietly. "Hoped, more like…"

"Oh God, this is so embarrassing…" She clasped her arms across her chest again, jumper sleeves too long and covering her small hands. He wanted to skip ahead, already, to the part where she was curled up in her bed, and he was holding onto her…

"Did you miss the part where I admitted I did the same thing?"

A tiny squeak of a breath worked its way out between her parted lips, and she shook her head.

"But… why?"

His face was too warm and his palms were slightly sweaty, and she looked far too flustered, her hair spiraling out in frizzy tendrils at all angles, handfuls falling over her shoulders… Her eyes were red-rimmed, her nose was deep pink, and her chest was moving visibly with each breath. 'Why' was about the most ludicrous question she had ever asked him.

"You were wearing my shirt, and nothing else, and making _noises_. And… even if you weren't… you've got no idea. I'd actually be bloody proud of myself for hiding it so well for fucking _months_ in this damn tent if it hadn't made you think I didn't want…" He wasn't gonna say _that_ yet.

"Everything about me is plain, except for my hair, which is worse than that," she started, slowly shaking her head. Disbelief flooded every feature as she exhaled shakily. "You… you already snogged someone that half the school wanted to be with. I really try not to care, I swear I do, but I can't compare to girls like that."

Sod 'why.' _This_ was the most absurd thing she'd said.

"You're so much better than all them," he said, evenly, impressed with his own voice. She couldn't think he didn't mean it. She really couldn't.

"Stop." Her arms loosened from across her chest and fell, hands clenching her mattress on either side of her thighs. She really couldn't see?

"This is stupid. I meant everything I said. You gotta just trust me." He ran a hand across the back of his neck as he watched her swallow.

"I do," she said, so quietly, "but this is different."

"I'm really sorry," he said, recalling how she hadn't wanted him to be, but sod that, too. "I should have made it more obvious I guess, but it's fucking scary. I've never… I don't have thoughts like that about anybody else. Never have."

Why would this be such a shock to her? Why would any of it- He had to stop himself from spiraling down this path, accepting that at least now, with a bit more out in the open, he could stop incorrectly guessing what she knew about how he felt.

"What do you mean you _never_ have?" she asked, strained. This was really it, then.

"I mean I've been… shit… I've been thinking about snogging you, and loads more than that, for several years."

"Careful," she whispered, through what sounded suspiciously like a relieved cry.

"Of what?" He'd been thinking about it, but he'd sort of let it go a while back when he'd realised he'd figured out what she'd been so upset about. What was the point in not saying it, anymore? "Was this part of what you didn't want me to say?"

"Not yet. But you might be getting close to it…" Her eyes creased at the corners, and she actually started to smile. "Do you really think about me like… _that_?"

"Yeah, definitely… You'd be shocked if you knew exactly, I reckon."

"I don't think you could shock me," she muttered. "You don't know exactly what I think about _you_ …"

He'd been so busy trying to convince her that he had near constant sexual thoughts about her that he had skipped over the part where this had all started because she had the same sorts of thoughts about him. Now, his realisation from the previous morning - that he was being faced with smashing his image of Hermione as innocent - played back through his mind. He'd only ever tried to think of her that way in the first place to tame his fantasies. He'd known, he figured, on some level, that it was false. But what the hell were they supposed to do now? He could think of lots of things, actually, all of which involved locking Harry out of the tent for the night…

Hermione would have a better solution, he reckoned, one that took into account the fact that they were living on the run, in the middle of a massive war, and trying to survive.

"Okay." He took a deep breath, and she held his gaze, face still flushed brilliantly. "What do we do about it?"

She laughed very lightly, attempting to tuck some of her hair behind her ears.

"We have to do _something_ ," she sighed, and not quite in a frustrated way. His stomach flipped over fiercely, and his hands twitched. "But I wanted to… save something, too. I thought, if we did, then maybe we'd somehow try harder to stay alive."

This hurt, but in that way that made him want to gather her up again and bury his face in her hair and cry. The truth was, he mostly agreed. Had done since she'd desperately asked him to stop when he'd been so close to telling her how much he loved her. He still reckoned she hadn't known the full scope of what she'd stopped from from admitting, but he also knew she'd have likely been even more frantic to keep the words from being said if she had.

A part of him suspected it was because she thought she was going to die. Or they both were. She could claim all day that she wanted to keep it for the end, to have that light shining brightly in front of them, so they'd reach out for it. But did she also think, maybe, that death would be a bit easier if they kept a bit of themselves at arm's length?

And then, there was the part that possibly ached the most - the unknown.

"What if the war goes on for… dunno, _years_?" he asked, his rapid pulse not quite capable of drowning out the desperation for a future so much sooner than later.

"I don't think I can wait that long," she admitted, a small, shy smile spreading. He smiled back, relieved that they agreed on that point.

"So…" he started, but the rest of his words would only be a repeat of the question he'd already asked. She licked her lips and cleared her throat.

"I'll stop you, if I need to," she said simply, and he knew she was giving him a lot of permission in that single sentence. He also knew that he could easily convince her to forget this whole idea about saving something and do _all_ the things they both wanted, instead. But, he found, oddly, that he really didn't want to. Not yet. There would be time to savour it, to thoroughly enjoy every moment, each new thing. That's what this meant to her, and it felt incredible to imagine it. He knew there would probably be moments they would both regret it, but for tonight, he agreed with her.

"Take off your jumper," he said, immediately shocked by the boldness of his request.

She shivered and shut her eyes for just a second before standing. He stood as she turned her back toward him, crossing her arms in front of her body and grasping the bottom hem, tugging it up over her head. Her vest clung to it and pulled halfway up her torso before she dropped the jumper to the floor, not bothering to straighten her vest back down.

He took a step closer, then another, until he could feel the heat from her body against his own, not quite touching.

He lifted his left hand, realising that he was shaking a bit, and placed his fingertips on her bare left shoulder, only _encouraged_ by the fact that she gasped at his touch, unable to see him as she was still facing away. He moved so, so slowly, until his hand was covering her shoulder, and then, just as slowly, he began to slide his hand down her arm. Her body moved with each breath, heaving a bit, and he focused on the trembling sounds of her exhales.

He had never, _ever_ , touched anyone like this before, and it was driving him mad. As his hand reached her elbow, she lifted her arm to the side, just a bit, almost as if she was too impatient to wait for him to move further. He swallowed and dragged his hand the rest of the way to her wrist before removing it slowly, until only the very tips of his fingers were still touching her. He recalled how amazing it had felt to be touched this way, her fingertips grazing so lightly over his forearm, so he began to move up again, so gently that he was hardly making contact with her skin.

She shuddered out a noisy breath, a tiny squeak at the end that made his legs weak. He arrived at her upper arm and very carefully wrapped his long fingers around her bicep, closing his eyes and swaying just the tiniest bit forward, slightly dizzy. And then, he lifted his right hand to mirror his left before moving up again, hands molding over her shoulders, continuing to the sides of her neck. He could feel her pulse, a tiny movement of her jaw as she breathed through her mouth. And then, she leaned backward, her body finally touching the front of his as her movement forced his hands further forward around her neck.

Immediately, he realised her arse was now against his crotch, and he groaned. He could forget hiding _that_ from her, anymore.

A million thoughts and fears flashed frantic through his mind, which ended in him assuming he should probably move, but not quite knowing how to do that. He wasn't sure how much of her weight he was now supporting. But, finally, he rested his hands on her shoulders again and very gently pushed her away from him. But he lowered his forehead to the top of her head right away, in an effort to keep her from thinking something irrational like maybe he didn't actually want her. He wasn't sure how much more clear he could be, which was exactly the problem in the first place…

"I don't mind that," she whispered, in such a tiny, tentative voice. "Unless it's uncomfortable for you…"

"Uncomfortable's not exactly the right word…" he muttered down toward the back of her head.

He lifted his head, still looking down, and he was reminded how much skin her jumper had revealed, tugging up her vest. Her back was bare from the bottom of her ribs to her waist. Before he could think about what he was doing, he had dropped his hands to her hips and was lightly touching the skin he'd just been noticing. She moaned - actually _moaned_ \- so softly, and he felt her stomach muscles tighten where the tips of his long fingers were curving around her.

"Take off your shirt," she breathed, and he froze, overwhelmed by the sound of her voice, realising exactly how he must have sounded to her when he'd asked a similar thing.

He let go of her and did as he was told, reaching over his shoulder, grasping his shirt the from the back, and tugging it over his head, startled to see her facing him and staring when he emerged. His shirt had barely hit the floor when her hands were on him. Her light, cool fingers traced up his sides and he lifted his arms slightly, involuntarily giving her easier access. She reached his ribs and moved inward, flattening her palms to his chest and staring at her own hands on him. He'd never realised how sensitive his skin was until that moment. It was as if every single nerve in his whole body was tingling.

"Could we… lie down?" she asked, choking a bit on her own words.

"Yeah," he said, surprised how low his own voice was.

She moved first, and he followed her, lying on their sides to face each other under a blanket. Everything was a million times more nerve wracking, in the most brilliant way possible, now that he knew what she was feeling. She reached up and traced her fingers across his jaw, down the side of his neck. He wanted to kiss her so badly he thought he might die.

"Promise you only want to wait because you actually think you'll survive," he said roughly, needing her answer as much as he needed to feel her lips on his, her hands all over him…

"I'm not going to die before you kiss me," she whispered, and he felt all his aching longing turn immediately to strategy.

"Then I won't do it til it's over."

She pressed her lips together, looking so conflicted.

"I wanted that, didn't I," she said, almost as if she was frustratedly asking herself. "Can I have… something else then?"

He swallowed, smiling.

"Turn around," he whispered, hoarsely.

She studied him for a moment before flipping over to her other side. As she settled, he reached for the tangled bunch of hair over her shoulder, tugging it all back and exposing the right side of her neck, gathering all his bravery as he pushed up onto his elbow and lowered his face, closing his eyes just before his lips touched her skin. She gasped and tilted her head down against her pillow, giving him the tiniest bit easier access.

He couldn't fucking believe he was kissing her neck. His feet had gone numb, his hand was still tangled in her hair to hold it back, and he moved his lips, parting them a bit more, dragging them half an inch across her skin and _tasting_ her.

"Ron," he heard her whisper, and he clenched his eyes shut tighter, overwhelmed.

He moved his mouth behind her ear, her breath coming quicker as his tongue just barely flicked out against the hot skin at the edge of her hairline. Then, he worked his way back down, his hand moving out of her hair to feather against her arm. She bent her elbow, reaching up for his hand and lacing their fingers as his lips closed around what he immediately discovered to be a very sensitive spot, at the outward curve of her neck. She clenched his hand and moved her legs and shivered.

He had to stop, or he'd never be able to. He lifted his mouth away just barely, panting against her skin, slightly wet from his kisses.

"God…" she breathed, tugging his hand further over her body to rest on the mattress in front of her. "What can I do to make you feel like that?"

"Anything."

He pressed his nose to the hollow above her collarbone, and she shifted backward, aligning her body with his.

"Ermynee," he mumbled against her skin, his erection painfully straining under two thin layers of pyjamas and pants.

She guided his hand to her mouth, closing her lips around the pad of his thumb, and he sucked in a sharp breath as she moved to the inside of his wrist.

They both froze, the sharp sounds of dishes clanging together interrupting them. Harry was in the kitchen. But she didn't let go of Ron's hand. Instead, she burrowed slightly closer into him, her arse against his crotch again, making him dizzy. He dropped his head behind hers on the pillow, heart pounding.

Moments ticked past, just listening, and he focused on her uneven breathing, the twitch of one of her legs in front of his, her hand opening and closing around his fingers again.

At last, silence. Harry had gone back outside.

"I don't care if he knows," she whispered, "but _that_ might have made him uncomfortable." He could hear the smile in her voice, and he chuckled.

"You should sleep, anyway," he suggested, thinking of her watch starting in a few hours.

"Don't want to sleep."

He smiled, eyes creasing. But, after a few more silent moments, he moved his fingers between hers, and she sniffed.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a small voice.

"What'd'you mean?"

She moved her hips the tiniest bit backward, and he bit the inside of his cheek, hard.

"Fuck…"

"Sorry," she whispered.

He took a steadying breath, closing his eyes again. Part of him knew this could go a lot further, fairly confident that she wanted it to. But the rest of him - all of him, really - every bit that knew, to his core, that she was it for him, that _this_ was it… He knew it would be better this way. Wait.

"I'll survive," he choked, just barely believing it.

"Not sure I will," she shuddered, and his grin spread as he buried his face in her hair.


	11. Chapter 11

He woke up at half four, slightly chilly. He could hear Harry's deep breathing from his bunk, and he knew Hermione would be outside on watch. His legs were tangled in her blanket but his bare torso was exposed, which accounted for the cold. That, and the lack of her body heat, now that she'd left.

He slowly smiled, recalling mere hours ago, everything they'd said and done. Sod it. He didn't want to stay here, alone.

Yawning, he got out of bed, pulled on the nearest shirt and jumper and gathered her blanket in his arms, heading outside. She was sitting a metre away from the tent, on a thick blanket, her shoulders slumped slightly forward, a bluebell jar in front of her, casting her wild hair in a light halo.

"Hey."

She turned toward the sound of his voice, smiling, but surprised. Before she could say anything back, he walked up next to her and dropped down to sit beside her, tossed the blanket he was carrying out to open it, and leaned sideways, toward her. She lifted her hands, startled, just as his head hit her lap, laughing as he adjusted the blanket over himself and settled.

"What are you doing?" she asked down at his profile, still laughing lightly.

"Sleeping for three more hours," he explained, shifting his head around to get comfortable.

"On my lap?"

"Thought I might, yeah."

He could feel her staring at him as he lazily blinked toward the dark tree line in the distance, smiling. And then, her hands were in his hair, and he shut his eyes, exhaling deeply through his nose.

"What woke you? Is everything okay?"

"Brilliant," he yawned, lifting a hand to rest on her knee.

She moved her fingers lightly against his scalp, and his whole body relaxed, ignoring a few rocks and twigs digging into him through his pyjamas. After a few short minutes, her hands stopped moving and remained resting gently on his head, but he could feel a slight shakiness in her touch as she breathed deeply through her nose.

"Okay?" he asked scratchily, turning his head slightly in an attempt to look up at her, but he could just barely see her face from his position.

"Yeah," she said, hoarsely. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Yes, why?"

"Your hands are shaking."

"Oh. I'm fine, just thinking."

He turned fully now, jostling in her lap to shift onto his back, head resting heavily on her thigh as he stared up at her shadowy face. Her hands fell away from him, and he knew she wasn't fine. But he didn't have to ask her to say more. He could tell she knew what he wanted to ask without the words. It was funny, sometimes, how good they were at reading each other when it came to everything but their feelings _for_ each other. He almost smiled as this thought occurred to him, but she licked her lips and spoke again first.

"I just… want all of this to be over, and I have no idea what we should be doing next."

Her left hand moved to his blanket, picking at a loose thread.

"Back at Hogwarts," she continued, quietly, "at least we had classes to go to, and we could talk to other people to try and get information… and the _library_. God, I miss the library. I've read everything we've got out here, cover to cover. I should have brought more…"

"You prepared a _lot_ ," he reminded her. "No bloody way you could have brought everything we could possibly need for every situation."

"It's just so _frustrating_ ," she sighed. "Don't you feel that?"

"Sometimes." She raised her brows and kept staring down at him. "Okay, a bit more than sometimes. But then… honestly, I'll just try talking to Harry about something else, or I'll start-" he cleared his throat "-thinking about you, and I'll forget about it, for a while."

She licked her bottom lip, and a small smile formed.

"Yeah, you can be pretty distracting…"

There it was again, that fluttery feeling in his chest.

But she sighed again, shifting a bit and removing her hand from his blanket.

"Where should we go next? What's even the point? I honestly don't know how we'll get any further along unless something happens _around_ us…"

He'd had this thought himself. They had to stay hidden, but, at the same time, being so far away from anything remotely intriguing made it impossible to generate movement from an outside influence. They were relying on their own guesswork.

"So…" he began, "maybe we can't do anything right now, and we just have to… be okay with that."

She sighed, shaking her head.

"But every day we don't get any further feels like another day it'll take to finish it."

"Yeah," he said, simply, because this was true, and there wasn't much he could say against it.

"And," she continued, "it's going to be even worse now that…"

"What?"

"...now I know you want what I want."

But though her words were bittersweet, her smile was shy and somehow excited, too. And he knew that her concern for the future wasn't going to outshine what they knew they had now. So, he grinned and turned inward, burying his face against her stomach, through jumper and shirt, curving his right arm around her back. His face had never been so close to this part of her. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, feeling her stomach move against his nose as she breathed with him.

"Go to sleep," she whispered. "You've got first watch tonight, haven't you?"

"Mm hm," he hummed against her stomach, making her shiver lightly as her hands weaved into his hair again. "Don't let me stay here if you get uncomfortable," he added, muttering against her clothing, hoping she'd understood him, as a combination of her hands on him, her intoxicating scent, and the inviting heat from her body lulled him quickly to unconsciousness.

* * *

His head was moving unnaturally when he woke up, blinking against the post-dawn light. It took him approximately two more seconds to realise what was happening, just enough time for Hermione's hands to shove underneath his head as she shifted her legs.

"Oi," he mumbled, and she paused. But he lifted his head, blinking sleepily at her as he pushed a palm down on the ground across her thighs to sit up.

He froze, realising how close their faces suddenly were. Her right hand was resting on his shoulder, and he wasn't sure she was breathing. He couldn't look away, her eyes now locked on his, and he knew how simple it would be to break everything, right now. Shit, it had seemed impossible, just days ago, to cross the barrier between their close friendship and actually _kissing_ her. Now, after the previous night, he knew he could do it. Easy. And that thought possibly terrified him more than before, when he'd been too afraid to even imagine it for more than a couple of seconds, in her presence.

But then she did breathe, a sharp exhale against his mouth, and he forced himself to look sideways, pushing away from her and sitting fully up next to her, facing the tent.

In his periphery, he saw her close her eyes, her hand falling to clench the tartan on which she was still sitting.

"Sorry," he mumbled, gathering the blanket that had been stretched over him as he'd slept, for something to do.

She shook her head quickly, opening her eyes slowly, looking slightly drugged.

"I'll make breakfast, yeah?" he tried, voice suddenly hoarse and rough.

She didn't respond, but he took his chance to leave, standing and passing by her, chest unclenching a tiny bit only once he'd made it to the kitchen and started working.

* * *

It had actually turned out to be a beautiful day, in spite of being cold enough to see each exhale in the air. So, they'd spent the afternoon walking together, the three of them, looking for sparse edible plants and occasionally talking about nothing in particular. Hermione had increased the quantity of remaining pasties in their haul from the baker's, so they would have them for a another few days. But she had also explained that they couldn't carry on doing that forever. The ingredients would go stale, and the duplicated food would no longer be edible, no matter what she did to increase it. The flaky bread was already going crusty, though it was still quite an improvement on anything else they'd been eating for the past few months.

By the end of the day, Ron was pleased that Hermione seemed to have busied herself with other tasks unrelated to the Horcruxes or their mission, which was a much needed relief for her after she had been so worried about it earlier. He could only hope that he'd managed to say something of worth to her, in the middle of the night, something that had helped her to let it go, at least for one day.

It wasn't that he wanted to stay out here a damn day longer than they had to. But she needed a little bit of a break, or she would drive herself mad.

At last, night had fallen over their camp, and a slight drizzle was coming down. It was unsurprisingly, really, as they reckoned it was only a matter of time before the weather was going to give up again. So, he slid on his trainers and draped his cloak over the back of a chair and waited for Hermione to finish in the loo so he could see her before his watch started.

She finally emerged, and he caught her eyes.

"Hi," he said, from the sofa. She walked slowly over, yawning.

"Hey."

She sat beside him, almost touching.

He wanted her to move closer.

He hoped she'd stay far enough away that he couldn't be tempted to grab her and-

He really wanted her to move a _good bit_ closer.

He closed his eyes, opening them again as he laughed.

"What?" she asked, softly.

"This _might_ be impossible."

"What might?" She shifted until her thigh was touching his. He swallowed and stared down.

"This," he said, gesturing toward their legs.

"Sorry," she whispered, starting to move away again. But he reached down and trapped her thigh under his warm hand. His heart rate instantly increased as she gasped.

"See what I mean? Impossible," he breathed, turning his head slightly to give her a lopsided smile.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, voice only a notch above a whisper.

"Shit, don't say things like that," he teased, grinning wider as she rolled her eyes.

"You know I didn't mean it _that_ way. Prat."

He let go of her leg and swiped his messy fringe back from his forehead.

"Nothing to do about it. Just funny," he said, returning to her question. "I… I want to go right up to _almost_ doing whatever you want to save, and just barely stopping… but I'm not sure I can actually manage it without going fucking mental."

"Yeah," she sighed, but she was smiling, too. "If you think this is stupid, just say-"

"No, it's not stupid." She eyed him suspiciously. "You aren't making me do - or _not_ do - anything I don't want to."

He smiled at her again, and she relaxed.

"Reckon I should be starting watch."

She nodded, but she seemed caught on something she wanted to do or say. He hesitated, and she finally turned inward, bending a knee up on the sofa between them and reaching up to place her left hand on his right shoulder. He licked his lips, unsure if it made sense for him to suddenly feel as nervous as he did.

But then, she leaned closer, tilted her head, and kissed him on the cheek. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of her warm lips on his sandpaper skin. He should really shave, he thought. And he instantly wondered why the hell he had to think about a stupid thing like that while Hermione was in the middle of _kissing_ him.

She drew back away, much too soon, and he opened his eyes again, watching as she darted her own eyes toward his, locking onto his gaze for a moment as they smiled at each other.

"Goodnight," she said, her voice a bit higher pitched than it had been just moments ago. And he watched her stand and walk away, heading toward the bedroom where Harry was already softly snoring.

* * *

He really shouldn't worry, but he knew what she'd said about not being able to sleep properly without him - his chest clenched, and he tried not to be too thrilled by this, considering it wasn't good for her not to be sleeping well whenever she had the opportunity - and he couldn't stop obsessing over it. He hated the idea of her lying in bed, awake, not wanting him to know… or just not wanting to bother coming outside.

He was thirsty, anyway, so he got up and made his way back inside, opting to check the bedroom before going to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he crossed through the flap from the sitting room, all his doubts over whether he was overreacting instantly vanished into thin air. She was sitting up in bed, tears streaming down her face.

"Hermione?" he said, loud enough for her to clearly hear him but hopefully not enough to wake Harry. She sniffed, and her eyes shot over to his, startled. Before she could respond, he crawled into her bed from the end, sitting on his knees next to her, brows fiercely furrowed with concern.

"I'm o-okay," she said, immediately… unconvincing considering the tears were still coming in waves.

"Liar," he whispered back.

She closed her eyes and exhaled frustratedly.

"What made you come ch-check on me?" she asked, opening her eyes again and attempting to dry her face with the back of her hand.

"Dunno. Wanted to make sure you got to sleep alright."

"I thought of t-taking Dreamless Sleep," she admitted, "but I didn't want to be so unconscious that I wouldn't know if something was h-happening."

"But what's all this?" he asked, moving a bit closer and flicking his gaze to her still-damp cheeks.

"Bad dream, that's all," she sighed.

He was on the point of asking what it had been about when he realised there was a very good chance she didn't want to even think about it, much less tell him about it. But then she was talking again, trying to explain.

"I don't really remember it, now… but I th-think I've been having it a l-lot, the same one. But it's fine, really. You caught me at the worst possible moment… I'd just w-woken up."

She was staring down at the bed between them, so he held out his hand, palm up, right in front of her eyeline. He detected a very tiny smile before she reached out and took his hand in her own.

"You can go back, honestly," she continued, staring at their joined hands now. "But would you mind if I… maybe… slept in your bed?" She glanced up at him, presumably to gauge his reaction, which was pretty much just an assortment of confused facial features.

"No… but why?"

"I might be able to see through the flap from there, so…" She licked her lips and glanced away, shyly. "If you sit close to the entrance, I could maybe see you…"

"Oh." His thumb smoothed over the back of her hand absently, and his stomach flipped a bit. "Yeah, 'course."

She squeezed his hand and nodded, not quite looking at him. He really didn't want to leave her, but then she was getting up and letting go of him, dragging her blanket to his bunk.

"Go," she said, nodding toward the sitting room as she sat on his bed and gave him what he knew she was hoping would be a reassuring smile. He didn't quite buy it, but he didn't have much of a choice, so he got up and watched as she settled on her side, facing him.

"Come get me if-" he started, but she cut over him.

"Don't worry."

He nodded, finally forcing himself to turn away, and he retreated to the entrance, making sure to tug the flap open just a bit more and sit close enough that his back was half inside. He glanced over his shoulder after a few minutes, wondering if he could see her from his position as well, but all he could make out through the flap to the bedroom was darkness. Trying to focus back on his task at hand, he returned his attention to the dark woods ahead, counting down the minutes til Harry's watch would begin.

* * *

He'd looked in on her for a moment right after coming inside at the end of his watch, and he'd been relieved to find her asleep. So, he'd exchanged sleepy words with Harry as he'd made his way outside, and then he'd taken his time washing his face, changing out of his damp clothes from the light rain, and going for the water he'd completely forgotten about in the night, when he'd been focused on her nightmares.

But, when he finally yawned and stretched his way through to the beds again, he found her once again awake, still lying down, but shaking slightly.

"Another dream?" he asked, as he quickly approached her. She moved to the far side of his bed to give him space to climb in, which he did, settling on his side next to her as she sniffed.

"Oh, _God_ , I remember it now," she shivered. Tears splashed down her face as she blinked. "It was… it was my p-parents. I'd found them and- and they were being…"

She stopped, and he slid closer, draping his arm over her and opening his palm across her back.

"They were _h-hurting_ them, and I couldn't help. I couldn't s-stop it. I tried, I tried… Ron."

"It's not real," he said, firmly, clutching the back of her shirt in his hand. "They're fine."

Her eyes found his, and he could see her desperation, how much she wanted to believe his words, no matter how heavy the dream still was on her mind.

"H-How can you be sure?" she cried, reaching out and clutching the front of his shirt as tightly as he was now holding the back of hers.

"Because you're fucking brilliant, and you saved them," he said, just as firmly as his words had been before.

She stared back at him, the only sounds between them the hitching of her inhales and the steady in-and-out of his own breathing. He didn't know why he could be so confident about this, exactly, but he was. He really, really was.

"I keep doubting what I did," she finally admitted, sniffing as she scooted even closer, tucking a leg underneath his.

He knew what she meant, and he also knew that him saying he trusted her completely wouldn't make that any better. The point was _not_ how much others relied on her and trusted her to be perfect. In fact, that was only going to make it worse. Right now, her fear was not that people wouldn't believe she was good enough. It was that they _would…_ and then she _wouldn't_ be.

"But we can be logical about it, yeah?" he tried. "Your house was empty. No one would know where to look for them if they didn't find them there. You told no one what you did, aside from me and Harry. When this is all over, I'll go with you, if you want, and we'll find them and explain everything and bring them back."

A long silence stretched after his words, but her breathing seemed to be slowing, her eyes were no longer actively watering.

"Logical?" she finally questioned, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "When'd you start doing _that_?"

"Dunno," he grinned. "Just now."

She moved even closer, pressing the length of the front of her body to his. He closed his eyes, dragging his hand up from her back to tangle in her hair. She smoothed her hand over his shirt, around his ribs, and he rolled mostly to his back, gathering her tight under his arm as she rubbed her nose against the side of his neck.

"You're right," she finally sighed. "Thank you."

"I'm _what_?" he urged, in mock surprise. "Say that again."

He felt her laugh against him, her lips brushing his skin, and he shivered, wondering if she could feel his heart beating wildly as she moved her hand back to his chest, resting her open palm against him. But he focused on the feeling of her breathing slowing down, his fingers distractedly twirling in her thick hair. And the only thing that mattered was that she was safe, they were alright, together… for another day.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N:** Excuse me while we hang out in Hermione's head for the final section of this... Seemed like the right move, in the moment. Onward to Fluffland!_

* * *

When he woke up, she was still lying on his arm but was already awake, propped up slightly on her elbow. She seemed to be studying the side of his face, before she realised he was staring back. Her eyes dropped from his jaw, and her cheeks flushed lightly. He reached up to touch his own face somewhat self-consciously, and her eyes flicked back to him.

"Sorry," she said, shyly.

"Huh?" He blinked, still coming out of sleep but feeling his nerves begin to awaken with the rest of him at her proximity, sleepy voice, eyes on him again…

"Nothing," she sniffed, confusingly, but then she reached up and brushed her knuckles against the rough skin across his jaw and briefly tugged her bottom lip between her teeth.

His lips parted, not exactly sure what he intended to say, but she pushed against his arm to sit up, untucked herself from their blanket, and glanced over him.

"Oh." He moved to sit up, tucking his knees toward his body so she could pass by him to leave. He held their blanket gathered in his lap as she stretched, giving him an unintentional glimpse of a thin strip of her bare lower back.

He had been staring for a bit too long when she looked back over her shoulder… and caught him.

Ordinarily, he'd have blushed fiercely and frantically averted his eyes, hoping she'd just go away and that she hadn't actually noticed what he'd been doing. But, today… He swallowed and forced himself not to look away. He knew, after their conversation two nights previous, that she _wanted_ him to notice her. He couldn't quite understand why - he didn't know what she saw in him, exactly - but he could let himself be unrestrained and overwhelmed by the fact that she did… that she wanted him. After all, he'd been spiraling out of control over her for years.

Just now, he couldn't do much about the heat that rose to spread across his face and down the back of his neck, but the corner of his mouth tugged up, and she seemed as surprised as he was by the fact that he _hadn't_ looked away.

He expected her to blush, maybe smile back… and make an escape. But, she didn't.

She turned fully around and dropped down to her knees by his bed, reaching out for his face again with a determined look on hers. He froze, waiting… and she moved closer, tilting her head until he thought his heart would surely beat straight out of his chest… And then her lips reached the underside of his jaw, and the kiss she left there was not like the one last night - a gentle press of her closed mouth to his cheek before bed. Her lips were parted this time, and as he closed his eyes, swearing under his breath, he was sure he could feel her tongue on his stubbly skin.

He could have probably died, just then, and not have even noticed.

As the pressure of her mouth on him slowly decreased, he felt a desperation rise up, catching in his throat, and he couldn't let her go. His eyes shot open, her flushed face backing away from his, and he gripped her upper arm, dizzy by the sound of her shaky breathing.

She wasn't resisting, and shit, part of him wished she would… because every other part of him wanted to pull her back into bed, on top of him, holding her against his body and-

A tiny squeak floated between her lips on her next exhale, and he closed his eyes, trying to remember how to breathe… still holding onto her arm. He was far too close to kissing her, snogging her until neither of them could remember why they'd thought they should wait, in the first place. But it had only been a few days, and sod it, he couldn't make a mistake like that without thinking it through. And he was completely incapable of logical thought, at the moment. All he could do was lessen the temptation, remove his opportunity.

"Turn your head to the side," he asked, voice low and raspy. She sucked in a breath through her nose, and he could only hope she'd done what he'd asked her as he opened his eyes again. She had, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he lowered his mouth to that spot between neck and shoulder, eyes snapping shut again and actually sucking gently as she gripped the bed firmly, in front of her hips.

His uneven breaths through his nose were heating her skin, and he opened his eyes, finally dragging his lips against her a bit as he turned his head to rest on her shoulder. Her fingers found his side through his shirt, very lightly pressing into him.

"Better win the damn war _today_ ," he panted a bit, through slightly swollen lips.

She laughed, in that way that released so much tension, a bit too loud. He smiled and finally lifted his head from her shoulder, regulating his pulse by drunkenly staring off over her shoulder, then ducking his head so he wouldn't be tempted to watch her again as she stood and moved away from him.

"Do you need the loo?" she almost whispered, and he wondered, growing lightheaded again, if she knew exactly what she was asking… He'd maintained the bunched blanket over his lap, but he'd already admitted to how she'd affected him, before. And, just two nights ago, she'd actually _felt_ how much-

"You go first," he requested, hoping this wasn't as selfish a thing to ask as he wondered if it might be. Fuck, imagining what she might do in there… And then, for him to be right there, in the loo, where she had been, right after her…

He sensed her nodding vaguely, in his periphery, and then he heard her leaving, finally chancing a glance up to where she'd just been. He vaguely wondered if Harry was still outside, feeling as exposed as if he'd just shagged her in the middle of the sodding tent, with a view of the morning sun glinting over their camp through the open flap at the entrance…

* * *

She was sitting on the sofa, legs tucked up, reading. She hadn't spoken much in the last few hours, and as he passed by her to slump back into the armchair, he tried to get a glimpse of the spine of her book. He could only vaguely make out some faded print about Dark Magic, but after a few more silent minutes, she let the book fall open across her lap and quietly rubbed her temples with both hands, closing her eyes.

He knew he had to do more. He knew he could find optimism sometimes when the others were

lacking it. So, he stretched and got up, making his way for the rug at her feet and sitting on the floor. She opened her eyes, and he reached for her beaded bag, discarded next to her on the sofa.

"What do you need?" she asked, possibly a bit anxiously, but he wrote it off as stress from her being in way too deep with research again today.

"Books," he said, simply, and she raised a brow as he pulled out the first one he came across, settling with his back against the seat of the sofa, stretching his legs out along the rug.

He could feel her moving closer, leaning in over his shoulder. He swallowed, waiting.

"Most Macabre Monstrosities?" Her breath tickled his ear, and he froze for a moment.

"Why not?" he finally said. "This one's got that bit about Basilisks in it, yeah? Reckon I could do with reading it again."

"Well," she sniffed, "come up here. You'll be more comfortable."

"I'll be more _distracted_ ," he corrected, glancing over his shoulder to give her a sideways grin.

Harry walked in from the kitchen, sinking into the chair Ron had just vacated. But he said nothing, just closed his eyes, so Ron turned his full attention to the book in his lap, reading carefully. There was actually a moment, several minutes in, where he _considered_ getting out a quill and parchment to make notes…

* * *

"I should start first watch soon," Hermione said, quietly, walking up to where Ron was now sitting on the sofa, having moved after dinner when she'd relocated to the kitchen table. "Come outside with me while Harry's in the shower?" Her eyes flicked to the loo where they could hear rushing water behind the closed flap.

"Yeah," he said scratchily, having barely spoken the last few hours, and he shifted books from his lap to the sofa cushions, standing and following her.

Once outside, she turned to face him, next to the small mound of charred branches and ashes of the previous night's fire.

"What's up?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Nothing," she admitted shyly, tucking hair behind her ear. "I just won't really see you tonight."

"Oh, yeah," he said, realising. They had opposite shifts, so they'd be sleeping alone. He glanced down and scuffed the toe of his trainer on the rough ground.

She took a tiny step closer, and he lifted his gaze to hers, smiling slightly. Working a hand free from his pocket, he held it out, and she took it, coming further toward him as he gently tugged her fingers. She reached between them and played with a fray at the bottom hem of his jumper, and then he was looping his free arm over her shoulders. She sighed and dropped her forehead to his chest. Her hand moved around to his back, sliding under his jumper, shaking slightly as her nails worked his shirt up, too. And, suddenly, her fingers were against his bare skin.

Her face was still tucked down against him, so he couldn't see her expression, but he could feel her hot breath through his clothing. He let go of her hand, but only to lift his right arm over her shoulder to join his left, diving his fingers under the stretched neck of her jumper. Her back was so warm, and he flattened his palm across her shoulder blade, closing his eyes and ducking his head over hers.

His mind ran back over a few things at random, landing on an image of her marching angrily away from him, clutching a small stack of books in her arms, just before last Christmas. She'd worn the same jumper she was wearing now, and he could picture the way her hair had bounced against the deep, green wool. He'd wanted to say a lot of things he'd known there was no way in hell he was actually going to say.

"Sorry I was such an arse last year." Well, he'd said one of them now, at least. He reckoned he'd come close, a few nights ago, only they'd been talking about Lavender. Now, he mostly meant how he'd spoken to her, the way he'd actually made fun of her... He felt sick just remembering.

"Hm?" He felt her shift a bit, her face turning against him.

"Just realising how shitty I was."

She lifted her head completely, and he pulled his hand out of her jumper to rest on her shoulder, instead, as she looked up at him.

"I know you didn't…" she swallowed, "mean it."

This was beside the point, in his opinion.

"You asked me to that stupid party I was daft enough to be worried about not getting invited to, and then I-" He stopped and sighed. "Well, you don't need me to tell you what I did."

She shook her head almost imperceptibly. He knew she couldn't tell him it was fine and be completely truthful. He'd acted out of jealousy and insecurity, and maybe they'd both been too afraid of how strong this thing was, between them… because it was certainly more than a bit overwhelming, being in love with someone he'd known since he was eleven.

But he'd been more than an arse, and he knew it. Some part of him had even known it then, but it was too difficult to hold it back. He'd see her and then all of a sudden he'd imagine someone else's hands on her and-

"I'd've punched anybody else for talking to you the way I did."

The tiniest smile emerged, and she nodded.

"I know."

"Wanna have a go?" he suggested, only half joking.

"Hm?"

"Y'know, hit me a couple of times." But then he recalled her fists aimed at him a few weeks ago. "Oh, reckon you did that already, when I first came back."

But she wasn't really listening, lost in thought.

"I wasn't exactly kind to you, either," she said, "last year…"

"Pretty sure I started it…"

She hesitated for a long moment before finally asking…

"Why?" Her brows were furrowed in that adorably sad way that made him feel entirely guilty. He knew she'd wanted it not to matter, when she'd kissed his hand a few nights ago, but that was much easier said than done, especially now that he was talking about it again.

"Knew I'd have to answer that…" he sighed. He could get it out of the way, now, at least. He was ready for the row. It had been a few days… "A few days after you invited me to Slughorn's, Ginny told me you snogged Viktor Krum."

Her arms dropped instantly from around him, and her eyes widened.

"She… she _what_?!" Her voice lifted to such a high pitch that he winced from the sound, realising this might be a good bit worse than he'd assumed.

"I'm over it, now," he tried, but that was a lie. "Right… maybe not _completely_ over, but-"

"He kissed me, _once_ , the night of the Ball! I'll kill Ginny…"

He probably shouldn't have made this so much about himself, he reckoned, because he really _had_ overreacted… and he was still doing so, right now, inside his own head. Only he didn't need to _tell_ her about it...

"Sorry," he attempted, lost for what else to say.

She glared at him for a moment, and then she was pacing - stomping, more like - on the opposite side of the fire pit.

"You have no idea! Oh, why couldn't you have just-" she cut herself off, groaning. "I wanted to go to that bloody Ball with _you_ , anyway! But he _noticed_ me, he _asked_ me, and I didn't think anyone _would_ notice. I can't believe you- you…"

She broke off again, long enough to toss him a furious glare before resuming her stomping.

"I finally thought things were going well, last year. I worked up the nerve to ask you to that ridiculous party, and I hoped you- no, I _knew_ you actually wanted to go with me! Why couldn't you have just dropped it? Honestly, Ron, are you _serious_?"

She looked over at him, again. But, this time, her red-rimmed eyes held a mixture of frustration and something that might have been regret.

"Because Viktor kissed me when I was fifteen?!" she cried. "We could have skipped all those horrible months if you'd just dropped it! Or- or asked me about it yourself!"

"Yeah, can you actually imagine me bringing that up? 'Oi, Hermione, tell me about that time you snogged a famous Quidditch-'"

"I didn't snog him!" she nearly screamed. He felt sure that Harry couldn't be deaf enough not to hear this conversation _now_ , even if he was still in the shower. "It was barely a kiss, and I just stood there! I was so young, and I didn't know what I was supposed to be doing."

"Oh, and that's the only reason you didn't kiss him ba-"

"Ron, STOP."

He'd gone way too far, again. He had to pedal backwards, and quickly, to find what he _really_ thought, the original intent of his apology and his confession.

"This is ridiculous," she sighed. "You only listen to the words I say when you can make them into something against you. Did you honestly not hear the rest?" Her fists were clenched at her sides, and her cheeks were a blotchy red.

"You're right," he agreed, directing his annoyance and frustration back at himself, something he'd gotten quite used to doing, recently. "I don't know why I'm being bloody defensive. Bad habit, innit?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head, overwhelmed.

"It's no excuse," he continued, as she glared a bit more softly over at him again, "but the only reason I overreacted was because that ruddy Ball was when I realised you weren't just…"

"What?"

"With me."

She paused for a beat, blinking.

"With you?"

"Yeah, y'know…" He ran a hand over the back of his neck and shrugged. "Before that, it was mostly the three of us, and you and me had Harry to worry about, together… and then we had our rows and it was all fine."

She raised her brows at him.

"But then I saw other blokes could just come up and get your attention, and it hadn't occurred to me like that before…"

She was too far away, and he didn't want to do this anymore.

"I'm not being fair, anyway," she finally sighed. "I did the same thing when you snogged someone else… I was really horrible to you."

"Can we forget about all that?" he tried, stuffing his hands in his pockets again. "It was bloody stupid, but it's over. Just wanted you to know I'm sorry. Don't think I said it properly before, in the hospital wing…"

His mention of the hospital had flashed some deep fear through her, and she moved around the fire, closer.

"I've never been so afraid than when I found out you'd been poisoned," she said, voice so soft now. "Except, maybe… when you were splinched."

He watched her as she moved even closer, and he was slightly hypnotised by her change in volume, the desperate caring in her tone. He'd been so relieved to see her by his bedside when he'd woken up after he'd been poisoned that he'd tossed out all the words he'd prepared, discarded, and prepared again over the previous month, hoping to reconcile with her, unable to cope with days and days and weeks and _weeks_ without her.

"And yes," she sniffed. "Let's please forget about how stupid we were."

They heard Harry moving around inside, and Ron suspected he was making an unnatural amount of noise to cover their row. But it seemed to be over, though he didn't want to leave her.

"Let me get a blanket," he suggested, "and I'll stay out here with you for a while."

She studied him, and, for a moment, he thought she might suggest he stay inside instead, but then the corners of her mouth tugged up.

"Alright. But you've got to go to bed…" she paused, to consider, "in an hour."

"Yes, Mum," he grinned, making his way toward the tent entrance.

* * *

It was freezing out, and she wasn't going to admit aloud just how glad she was that he'd be keeping her company for a bit. She pictured leaning against his shoulder, his arm around her. But as she thought about his warm body next to hers, she was drawn back to the feeling of his mouth on her skin.

Hours ago, he'd been so close, and her heart had pumped wildly at the thought that he might not be able to restrain himself from kissing her, after she'd just kissed his jaw. She could still hardly believe she'd done it, in broad daylight like that. But, then, she'd been both anxious and far too excited about the prospect of completely abandoning their plans to wait and just going for it. And just as she had started to convince herself that he really might, he'd kissed her somewhere else, instead… and she'd never felt anything like that before. Not that he wasn't consistently making her feel things she had never, _ever_ , felt before.

By the time he came back outside, she was focused so completely on the memory of his lips on her neck, two nights previous, that she didn't even hear him approaching until he was sitting next to her. It probably wasn't the smartest idea for him to stay here, with her, while she was too distracted already by the mere _thought_ of him to do her watch properly.

"Hey," he said, in that maddeningly scratchy voice, and then he was draping the blanket he'd brought over her shoulders and his own, scooting the right side of his body so close to the left side of hers that she could feel the magnetic pull of his leg and his arm and his side and- "Harry's gone to bed."

She nodded vaguely, far too distracted by his hand resting on his knee. She wanted to reach out and take it, and she really knew that she could. So, she hesitated only long enough to convince herself to just do it… and then, she did.

Her fingers curved between his, but then he flipped his hand and meshed their palms together. As they stared out into the dark, his thumb moved over her knuckles, and then, he started moving his fingers out from between hers, enough to bring his left hand over, under the back of hers, running the tip of his right index finger along each of her fingers, down the center of her palm… She shivered, eyes dropping to watch.

After a few more silent moments, she got the impression he was examining something, his finger sliding up beneath her knuckles, then over the pad of her thumb.

"What is it?" she almost whispered, flashing her eyes up to his profile as he continued to stare down at her hand. He laughed and brushed his palm over hers, as if erasing a page.

"Just remembering palmistry bollocks from Divination," he admitted.

Her eyebrows shot up, but he was still gazing at her hand.

"Like what?" she asked, wondering why she suddenly cared.

"Nothing interesting, we just learned about minor lines in fifth year."

"And you actually paid attention?"

His eyes shot up to hers, accompanied by a sideways grin.

"Hey, I do listen in classes, occasionally!"

"I know," she confirmed, "but Divination? Thought you and Harry only continued that course for an easy grade…"

"Correct," he assured her, grinning fully. "But you can't help learning _something_ after so many years."

"Well, what does my hand say, then?"

He sniffed and returned his attention to her palm, but her eyes remained focused on his profile for a moment longer, recalling how she'd woken up to his relaxed face, beautiful ginger stubble heavily peppering his jaw...

"Considering I failed the exam, I wouldn't really take my word for it, but.. I was looking for the intuition line," he explained, running the tip of his finger along the pad of her thumb again. She shivered once more at his gentle touch and finally looked down. "But I can't really see it. I've got it, which makes no sense, so I reckoned you might…"

"What's it mean?" she asked, softly.

"It's like," he began, licking his chapped bottom lip, "you can read people and know what they're feeling, sort of."

He adjusted his left hand underneath hers and moved his index finger further across her palm.

"But I think you've got a Ring of Jupiter," and he swiped the tip of his finger in a semicircle beneath her first finger, "which I'm pretty sure means leadership and intelligence, so… no surprise there." She could see him smiling, from the corner of her eye, her attention still mostly focused on his feather-light touch and his voice, close to her left ear, making her strangely lightheaded.

"What else?" she urged, softly.

"Well, you've got three bracelet lines, which is good." He ran the tip of his finger over her wrist, three times. "That first one's turned up a bit, but… yeah, I don't know if it means anything."

"What _could_ it mean?"

"Maybe… something really difficult or painful, but we're living in a tent and fighting a bloody war, so that fits…"

She nodded, not really caring too much about the possible implications of the lines on her hand… She was simply discovering that she was absolutely mesmerised by listening to him explaining something to her. She recalled a similar thought from studying together, the few times he'd handed out a piece of knowledge he had that she didn't, particularity when it involved his childhood in the wizarding world. It had been similar when he'd explained his familiarly with Beedle's stories, but it had never been as captivating as _this_.

She wasn't at all bothered if he started reciting dictionary entries, at this point, as long as he kept holding her hand, _touching_ her… and talking softly to her…

"What about this?" she asked, voice suddenly a bit hoarse. She pointed at what appeared to be a very light vertical line under her little finger.

He leaned the tiniest bit closer to examine it, and she smiled.

"S'posed to be lines for children, I think. You've got a second one, looks like. But they're faint."

He removed his hands from hers and stared down at his own left hand, flexing it as he held it up in the fire light to get a better view.

And then, for the first time since he'd started his lesson, she cared about what he was looking for. A lot. If he had chosen this moment to move back to his own hand, was he looking for the same lines he'd just told her about?

She watched intensely, but he seemed to be looking for several things, and she couldn't help asking.

"What do you see?" she trembled.

"Oh." He cleared his throat, returning to her hand. "We did readings on ourselves, so I can recognise the lines on my own hand better than yours."

He slid his left hand under hers and resumed the feathery movement of his index finger across her palm.

"Yeah, reckon that's all I can see, but there could be more, in better light."

"What about the major lines?" she asked, in an airy voice. "It's been awhile since I've studied them."

He paused, and then he started to smile, confusion etching across his slightly creased forehead as he turned inward to meet her eyes.

"Why the sudden interest in all this? I know you think Divination's nonsense."

She swallowed, half hating that he was onto her.

"Maybe… not all of it is," she attempted, weakly.

He continued to stare at her, his expression growing in scepticism. She rolled her eyes.

"Fine. I just liked listening to you explain it, alright?"

His eyebrows shot up under his fringe.

"Seriously?"

She curved her hand into a loose fist on top of his.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing! Exactly what _I've_ been doing for seven years…"

She sucked in a small breath, but then she shook her head.

"Actually, I figured that out a long time ago," she said, "but I always assumed you were teasing me."

"Reckon I was, at first," he began. "Though I don't think that's been the reason _once_ ever since we were studying for O.W.L.S…."

Their quiet gaze was interrupted by the sound of twigs snapping, way too close by. They leapt to their feet, wands out in unison, Hermione's eyes staring forward into darkness, unblinking.

"It's just a deer, I think," Ron whispered, as they took a tentative step closer. And then, she could see it, such a soft outline in the trees as it retreated away, vanishing again from sight.

She let out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Well," she sighed, lowering her wand, "I hate to say it, but you should go in. I'm rubbish at this with you out here… distracting me. A wizard or witch with a wand already out could have stunned us or worse before I'd noticed them."

"We're behind the wards," he reasoned, but she couldn't risk it.

"Why sit watch at all if we think this is safe? It's not. We don't know what could be out there or when someone could figure out how to reveal us. You-Know-Who's gotten through much stronger forces to get what he wants."

She knew he wouldn't argue against their safety, and he nodded almost immediately, resigned.

"Right. Sorry."

"Just go to bed," she smiled. "You should've already, anyway. It's late, and you won't get enough sleep if you don't start now."

He seemed to agree, though his forward movement suggested he wasn't ready to do it, just yet. When he reached her, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and lowered his face to the top of her head. Needing no encouragement, she buried her face in his warm chest and circled both arms around his waist, breathing deeply, exactly twice, before he pulled away again.

But then, her curiosity couldn't let it go, and she snatched his left hand, opening his palm with both of her own hands. She ran her fingers over the lines she could see, squinting in search of those two, tiny vertical lines he'd found on her, just under his little finger. If she stared, hard, she thought she could actually see them. Her heart gave a fluttery little jump, betraying her logical mind, and she let go of his hand.

"Goodnight," she whispered, and she finally gazed up at him, desperate to know if he understood what she'd been looking for. But, if he did, her only indication was a lopsided smile and a muttered "g'night," before he retreated back inside, yawning.


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N:** Definitely an R-rated chapter. Just a heads up. I'm fuzzy on the line between R and NC-17, to be honest, but there is nothing explicit... yet. Oh, and to address a bunch of questions I had about the length of this fic, if I stick with the plan as is, I'll be working on this for a very long time... We are heading past Shell Cottage, I'll tell you that._

* * *

He felt something warm press against the length of his back, and he cracked open his eyes. Still half asleep, he reached behind himself and was suddenly gripping a very large amount of the back of an upper thigh, through extremely thin pyjamas. She groaned lightly and tightened her body against the back of his, and he released her, suddenly fully aware of what was happening.

"Shit."

"It's your turn," she whispered, shuddering, still squeezed up against him.

"Sorry," he mumbled, shifting just far enough forward, away from her, that he could gently roll over, onto his back. She was staring at him in the dark, eyes glowing, lips parted.

"Don't be sorry," she whispered, so quietly. He considered what she might think he was apologising for, still too hazy with sleep to have a conversation, but then she snuggled up to his side. "Mm, you're so warm."

He lifted his arm over her and tugged her closer, knowing this was a bad idea when he had to get up now. She rubbed her nose against his shoulder, and then her hand was slipping up inside his shirt, palm flattening to his bare stomach. He closed his eyes. A few silent seconds ticked past before he forced them open again.

"I gotta go," he whispered, half wanting to slap himself and half remembering what she'd said hours ago about being distracted on watch.

She closed her eyes and removed her hand as he compelled himself to sit up.

"But… Harry's got first watch tonight," he reminded her, waiting for her to open her eyes. She stared up at him and gave him a sleepy smile as he grinned back. "Warmed up your side of the bed for you," he added as he crawled past her bent legs and stood up.

He watched her scoot over to where he had just been sleeping, pulling her blanket up to her neck. Then, he reached for a jumper, working his arms inside.

"Oh," he whispered, head emerging from wool. "Mind if I nick your bag for my shift? Thought I could do a bit more research if I start falling asleep before dawn."

She twisted around to face him, half sitting up.

"Oh… well…" Her face flushed lightly, visible even in the dark, as she slid out of bed.

"Didn't mean for you to get up-"

"Go outside, and I'll bring it to you in a minute," she sniffed, averting his gaze as she snatched her bag from the chair at the foot of her bed.

He eyed her suspiciously, ready to ask some questions, but she finally looked up at him to blink pointedly, and he gave up, grabbing a pair of jeans from his bunk and turning to leave.

* * *

He'd just finished re-igniting the fire in front of the tent when she emerged outside with her beaded bag, extending an arm down to hand it to him where he was sitting.

"What was that about?" he asked, taking the bag from her. But she just sniffed and shook her head, turning back around to go inside.

He couldn't imagine why she was acting so shifty about it, and his curiosity was enough for him to start rummaging through everything inside the bag, hoping to notice something missing. He realised the flaw in this plan, because if she had removed something just now, it was likely to be an item he hadn't seen before, because if he _had_ , she wouldn't be concerned with hiding it in the first place. But, what else was he going to do for six hours?

* * *

Just before eight o'clock in the morning, Harry emerged with tea, handing Ron a cup and sitting beside him.

"Cheers," Ron said, clearing his unused throat.

Harry made a vague sound in response, taking a long sip of his own tea.

"Hey," Ron started, "have you ever borrowed Hermione's bag?"

"What d'you mean?"

Harry lowered his cup and held it between both hands, presumably to warm them. It was another very cold day, though at least it wasn't raining… yet.

"Y'know, had it with you on watch or something," Ron explained.

"Don't think so. Why?"

"I asked for it, when we switched out, and she was really weird about it."

He glanced over at Harry as his expression turned mildly puzzled.

"How so?"

"Told me to come outside," Ron explained, "and then she brought it a few minutes later and wouldn't talk about it."

Harry took a couple of seconds to think before shrugging.

"Maybe she needed clothes or something from it."

"Why not say that then?"

"Dunno. Maybe it was some girl thing, like underwear or-"

"Eh, doubt it." Ron glanced over his shoulder toward the tent entrance.

"She's still asleep," Harry assured him, knowingly.

"I went through everything in there to see if something was missing, and- ...yeah. Her clothes were in there." He willed his ears not to flush, but he felt the temperature increase, so he knew it was no good.

Harry wasn't trying very hard to hide his amusement.

"Look," Ron started again, "I had six hours and nothing to do, and I was curious!"

"Yeah, not judging you…" Harry almost smirked, "but I'm guessing I probably shouldn't tell Hermione you went through her knickers?"

Ron hit Harry a bit harder than intended over the back of the head, but Harry just laughed.

"Prat! I didn't purposely look for them, Jesus…"

"Okay, well…" Harry said, stifling another wave of laughter, "I think your only option is to just ask her about it, if you're so curious. If she did take something out, you wouldn't have noticed because you-"

"-wouldn't have seen it before, anyway. Yeah, I had that thought."

They fell silent for a few more minutes, sipping tea.

"Should we move again today?" Harry asked, after a while.

"Yeah, prob'ly."

They heard Hermione shuffling around inside, both turning to glance toward the noise.

"I'll see what she thinks," Ron said, setting his cup down on a flat rock next to him and standing, brushing dirt and crushed leaves from his jeans.

* * *

They'd relocated to a rocky area, tucking the tent between jutting boulders. Once settled, Ron had taken out the maps again and started marking areas they hadn't explored yet, reminding himself that mere weeks ago, they had yet to destroy a single Horcrux, and now they had the means to destroy the rest. It was a huge improvement over their previous situation, regardless of the current standstill.

But, after dinner, Harry had given a small lecture about the Hallows and Hermione's "obsession" with the Horcruxes, which had resulted in her spending the rest of the evening on her bunk, surrounded by books and not speaking. Ron had tried to engage Harry in optimistic conversation once or twice before giving up and attempting to tune into Potterwatch again. But, after failing at that task, too, he recovered his pyjamas and got ready for bed, finally approaching Hermione just after Harry retreated outside for his watch.

"Can ghosts cast a Patronus?"

She hesitated for a moment before glancing up at him where he stood just inside the bedroom.

"I… I'm not sure." Her brow furrowed with a mixture of confusion and intrigue. "Why?"

"Well, Harry's got some dead allies who might want to help us. Thought maybe the doe had been one of theirs."

She considered him for a moment before shaking her head.

"I don't think so. But it's a nice thought."

"Yeah," he sighed, running a hand through his hair and moving closer, losing interest in the conversation as he thought back to what he'd been hoping to ask her, tonight, in the first place. "Hey, what was it you took out of your bag last night?"

Her eyes widened before she dropped her gaze to the books around her, snapping their covers shut, clearly for a distraction.

"Did it occur to you I might not want you to ask me," she began in a pinched voice, "considering I didn't tell you in the first place?"

It probably had occurred to him, but he shrugged, curiosity far outweighing tact, at the moment.

"Can't be _that_ bad, whatever it was," he said.

Her eyes shot back up to his.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Yeah, 'course. But you don't hide shit from us, usually. Well…" He paused to reconsider this, but she sighed, interrupting his thoughts.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"If it's nothing, then why can't you tell me?" He regretted the words the moment they left him.

She closed her eyes and sighed again.

"I just _can't_." She opened her eyes again, and he noticed her face had gone a bit redder than it already had been. "But if you… wait… I'll tell you, later."

He had to force back the words 'how much later'...

When she finally chanced a look up at his face, she must have seen the conflict and slight anxiousness there because she shook her head and softened a bit.

"Just don't worry about it, alright? It's nothing bad, promise. And I really was going to tell you, eventually."

"Yeah?"

She nodded, stacking her books and moving to put them on the chair at the foot of her bed.

"It's just… a little embarrassing. And I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it. But I will be."

He had just one more important question, and he couldn't help himself.

"Are you going to tell Harry about it, too?"

Her shocked eyes met his, and he immediately knew that he didn't need her to say the words. But, she said them, anyway.

"Definitely not."

He thought this _might_ just narrow down the list of things she could be hiding, but it would be dangerous to let his mind skip down that path, so he tried to shut it down as she stood up and gathered her pyjamas.

"Be right back," she said quietly, passing him and heading for the loo.

Still actively willing himself not to make a sodding mental list of items she could possibly be keeping secret, he climbed into her bed and settled on his side, facing the canvas wall. And then, as he remained there, in silence, his stomach flipped, and he realised he was nervous. The last time Harry'd been on first watch, Ron had kissed Hermione's neck for several solid minutes. He shifted his legs, lightly groaning at the fact that the mere thought of what he'd done was making a visible presence. Fortunately, he was covered to the waist in her blanket by the time she returned and climbed into bed behind him…

He turned to half glance over his shoulder at her as she lightly cleared her throat.

"Do you usually sleep in a shirt?" she asked, in a slightly squeaky voice. "I mean… when you're at school or home?"

"No," he admitted, swallowing. The words 'do you?' were on the tip of his tongue, but they weren't budging.

He felt her hands slip under the bottom edge of his shirt, feathering against his lower back. Trembling a bit, she worked the shirt up higher, exposing his skin, her nails lightly raking across him every once in a while. He wasn't even sure she knew she was doing it.

She reached the bottom of his shoulder blades, and he figured he'd help her out. Sitting up, he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it across her, in the vague direction of his bunk. Her eyes lifted up his body, slowly. He was about to sink back down into bed when he realised.

"Wait, you always sleep on the inside."

She blinked before she caught on.

"Oh, I like this tonight…" She daintily cleared her throat, and he wasn't sure why she should be shy about this, but it somehow made his skin tingle, in spite of his attempted logic. "I have to be up before you, anyway."

She scooted a bit closer and vaguely chewed her bottom lip, and he forced back a choked exhale. Now that he had a proper look at her, he saw that her white vest was fucking _tiny_ and nearly see-through. The straps over her shoulders were so thin that they might as well not exist, and her bra was definitely blue.

Her fingers moved lightly up his spine as he sat there, so he didn't wait any longer to resume his position on his side, back facing her. He felt her shifting around behind him, and then…

Her _lips_ were on his skin, right against his spine, between his shoulder blades. He tensed for a moment, shocked by the sensation of the gentle pressure of her mouth. She moved down a bit, then stopped.

"Okay?" she asked, in the most adorably tentative voice.

He couldn't figure out how to respond, because questionably 'okay' was so, _so_ far away from what this was that it was comical. So, he laughed.

He could almost literally feel her trying to sort out what this meant, frozen behind him. And then his hand moved, almost without conscious thought, as if to reach back and touch her, again. But he recalled what had happened, in the middle of the night… where he'd accidentally landed, half asleep. And, as he was hovering, awkwardly, trying to figure out where he could reach from here that would be neutral enough, she took his hand and moved it for him.

He was suddenly holding on to the back of her thigh again as she firmly pressed the front of her body to the back of his and breathed in hot little bursts between his shoulder blades. Her hand remained over his, not forcing him to stay, but encouraging. Her left arm had worked up under their pillow, in an effort to leave no gaps between their upper bodies.

He closed his eyes, feeling everything. Her breasts were tight against his back, and her vest had ridden up to expose a good portion of her stomach, resulting in a wide strip where they were now skin to skin. He moved his hand the tiniest bit beneath hers… down her thigh, back up… and perhaps because he couldn't see what he was doing, perhaps because he just wanted to do it, he moved up a bit farther than he'd been before, and he could feel the swell of her arse, the band of material through her thin pyjamas where her knickers began.

He tried to settle his shaking hand at his starting position, blood rushing in his ears, and she removed her hand from his to work her arm under his to wrap around his waist. Her hand spread across his bare stomach, and, for some unexplainable reason, he wanted to see. He tilted his head to look down his own body, his pale stomach overlapped by her slightly darker skin. She curved her fingers and brushed her nails up to his ribs.

"Bloody hell…" he breathed, as her mouth opened against his back again.

And then she slid her body down, an open kiss against his spine... just far enough so his fingers brushed against the swell of her arse, again… higher, this time. She moaned lightly, into him, shuffling her legs closer behind his.

He had a strongly compelling urge to suddenly flip around and pin her to the bed. He tried to resist for exactly two seconds… before her tiny fingers climbed higher and brushed across his nipple.

He moved so quickly, and she gasped as she was suddenly locking eyes with him, rolling to her back. He took ahold of her wrist, her arm hovering in mid-air… and he lifted it above her head, holding it there to the pillow as his body half-covered hers. They were breathing in short panting rhythms through parted lips, and her vest had ridden up even higher, bunched underneath the bottom edge of her bra. So much skin… He felt her stomach tighten as she shifted underneath him, her back arching the tiniest bit, almost desperate.

Shaking, he lowered his head to her neck and dragged his mouth down, all the way to her collarbone, further… losing his grip on her wrist and letting his hand float over the inside of her forearm as his lips slid down her sternum…

...and froze.

Her chest was heaving roughly now, he could feel her heart beating rapidly, and his erection was digging into her leg.

He had to stop, or… or, what? She wasn't asking him to stop. But, at a certain point, this was going to go too far, _right_?

He couldn't fucking shag her in the middle of the tent. He knew what they needed for that, and they didn't have it. Not to mention Harry, who was literally metres away, outside. And then there was the plan not to kiss until the sodding war was over. She'd told him she'd stop him if she wanted to save it, but surely she didn't want to go this far tonight...

"Sorry," he mumbled as he lifted his head, fringe half-obscuring his vision of her face.

"What for?" she squeaked.

"Wasn't exactly taking it slow…" He moved off her just enough so that his crotch was pressed down into the mattress and not into _her_...

"Oh my God," she breathed, heavily, "I don't think I could physically manage to take things any slower than we have already…"

He realised he might have slightly miscalculated the situation, and he studied her carefully. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Fair point," he said, thinking of the last several _years_.

His hand, having come to rest near her curved elbow, slid down further, gently holding the side of her neck, fingers dipping back into her tangled hair. He lowered his face to her shoulder and closed his eyes. But… he quickly became far too aware of her breasts on his arm.

He swallowed and shifted around for a second before lifting his head again to stare at her.

"Tell me what to do."

Rather than answering right away with words, she reached up and removed his hand from her neck, lowering it to her bare stomach. He spread his fingers across her skin, and she traced her own fingertips up his forearm. He pressed his nose to her neck, and he felt her rubbing her legs together. He recalled the way she'd done this _that_ morning, while she'd been _dreaming…_ Thoughts like that were going to force him to lose the desperate grip he had on control, so he pushed it far, far away.

"I know why you have to stop," she whispered. He could hear the conflict in her voice, and that was more than enough.

He knew they were stuck, and it was mostly his fault, though he wasn't completely sorry for that, either. It would be almost too easy to keep going and not turn back, and how could he do that, whatever it might be, if he couldn't _kiss_ her?

Another part of him was very willing to take that risk. But his head was heavy on her shoulder and, eventually, he felt her breathing slow down a bit. Though he'd been able to push away before and sleep like this, he knew it wouldn't happen tonight. So, he carefully lifted his head, extricated himself from her, and crawled down the bed.

Her legs moved, and he glanced up as she opened her eyes.

"Where're you going?" she mumbled, as he climbed out of bed and stood.

"Loo," he said, hoarsely. Her eyes shone in the dark, and he thought she might know exactly _why_ he was going… He tried not to focus on this point as she nodded against her pillow, cheeks flushed. He smiled at her before making his escape.

* * *

Once trapped inside the dark loo, he realised he'd left his wand by her bed. But, then, a frightening thought occurred to him, one that wasn't entirely negative… at all. He could just… _not use_ a silencing charm.

He could hear a faint rustling of bedclothes from her moving around, through the canvas that separated them, and he breathed shakily through his nose. On the one hand, this was pretty bold. But, on the other… damn, she _knew_ , anyway. And what was it she'd said about moving so slowly?

He shifted until he was directly in front of the sink and slid his hand inside his pants. And _this_ \- being audibly exposed - was suddenly nearly as nerve wracking and intense as what they'd just been doing in her bed. And then, another realisation struck him, and he groaned softly. He'd created images inside his mind, sometimes built on a look or an accidental brush of her hand against his while studying on the sofa, making Prefect rounds. But he'd always gone off a cliff from there, her naked body under his, behind Gryffindor bed curtains, surrounded by the orange walls of his bedroom at home.

But, _now…_

Shit. He knew how she felt, underneath him. He knew what it was like to touch skin he'd never seen before. It didn't even have to be a sodding fantasy, this time. This would be the first time he'd use _only_ the truth. Overwhelmed by this, he closed his eyes and could instantly feel her lips on his back again.

He moved his hand, and it could maybe have been hers, if he wanted to imagine it, but he didn't even need it to be.

 _His hand was spread over the bare skin of her stomach._

 _His lips were sucking her neck._

 _Her hands were in his hair._

"Fuck…" he rasped, louder than intended, but he'd stopped caring.

His free hand fisted in her bath towel, hanging on an iron clothes rack to his left.

 _His hand was brushing against her arse, through pyjamas._

 _She was kissing his jaw with an open mouth._

 _He could hear her breathing so heavily, through the walls-_

He could hear her!

His eyes widened, and that was all he could take.

" _Fuuuck_ , Ermynee…"

His heart was pounding in his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing sharply.

It took longer than usual for him to calm down, after.

Finally, he felt steady enough to move and clean up. But, then, there was nothing left to do but go back, which felt suddenly epically daunting. He held his breath, listening.

He couldn't hear her. The silence was ringing.

Maybe she'd fallen asleep, he considered. Maybe he'd been wrong about what he'd heard, and-

He opened the flap to the sitting room and was immediately face to face with her. Her round eyes sought his, head tilted back, so close. Her face was flushed nearly scarlet.

Well. He could forget wondering if the noises he'd made had traveled through the walls as well as her own sounds had come through from the other side…

"Uh," he choked, "you need…"

She nodded, and he squeezed past her, escaping. But he couldn't stop himself from glancing back, finding her eyes as she looked back at him, too, just before she tugged the flap shut and shuddered out a breath on the other side.

He made it to her bed just as he was beginning to doubt the use of his legs. And he fell in on his stomach, surrounded by the scent of her hair on her pillow.

After a stretched few moments, he heard the water rushing from the shower and managed to move again, hypnotised by the fact that all that separated them still was that single wall of canvas, directly in front of him. He settled on his side, facing the wall completely, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Sometime later, he awoke briefly to the feeling of her body behind his, snuggling close. She tucked her left arm under her pillow, pressed her chest to his back, draped her right arm over his waist, and he reached to hold it there, heart feeling impossibly light as she breathed gently against his back.


	14. Chapter 14

_**A/N:** Standing warning that there will be scattered sexual content for the remainder of this fic, so enter at your own... risk? _

* * *

Hermione had suggested they move the tent again, even though they'd just done it the previous day, because their current position had limited visibility and made her uncomfortable. So, they'd traveled much further north, and as they trudged toward a line of barren trees ahead, the clouds began to break, and the frozen landscape sparkled with the occasional quick peek of evening sunlight.

Their boots crunched through old layers of snow and ice, their cheeks and noses red from cold. They'd left a bit late in the day, and it would be dark in under half an hour, he expected, especially this far north, and all he could really think about was getting the wards up and getting a fire going.

Suddenly, the sounds of Hermione's footfalls, ahead of him, changed noticeably. She slowed down, evidently noticing as well. But, it was too late. She'd reached the margin of a completely hidden body of water, entirely frozen over, dusted with fresh sleet and snow, and the ice was cracking out from under her before she could scramble back to solid ground.

A startled yelp escaped her as she was quite abruptly submerged in freezing water, up to her neck.

"Hermione!" Ron and Harry shouted in unison, and Ron rushed further forward, sliding across the ice in her direction, attempting to halt his movement a metre away, to grab onto something. Scattered bulrushes rose up from what was obviously the bank of the frozen pool, and he reached for the nearest cluster, contemplating his next move.

At the same time, Hermione tried to get a grip on the sharp edge of the fractured ice between herself and Ron, but her attempt only further broke through it, and, as he skidded to his knees, Ron had just barely enough warning to spot the quickly zigzagging break heading directly for him.

"Shit."

The ground fell out from under him as Harry halted a few metres back.

"Ron!" Harry and Hermione shouted, simultaneously.

"H-Harry, stay p-put!" Hermione instructed, shivering furiously as Ron splashed down in front of her, submerging to his chest. She pushed forward and gripped his soaked coat sleeve tightly. "I'm s-so s-sorry!"

" _G-Goddamn_ , this is c-cold."

"Hang on!" Harry shouted, working his way closer, very cautiously.

"Harry, I c-can Apparate us o-out! Stay th-there!" she shivered. "R-Ron, c-could you try to r-reach my w-w-wand?"

"Where?" His feet were sinking a bit into the muddy bottom of the pool.

"Ohh!" she cried, frustrated as she moved around awkwardly. "'My c-cloak, but it's all… all t-tangled!"

Though she was able to just barely stand at this depth, he could tell how much she was struggling, grabbing onto him with both hands now. He dunked his arms fully under the surface of the water and caught her around the waist, holding her off the ground, against him.

"Get m-mine. Back p-pocket," he suggested.

The fact that he was still able to obsess about things like the feeling of her breasts pressing against his shoulder through her clothing as her hand traveled down his back to find his wand probably wasn't a good indicator of his ability to focus on Apparating them to dry ground. He attempted to clear his head.

Her fingers brushed his jeans, and then her arm emerged again behind him, water cascading off her cloak and jumper sleeves to run down the back of his head as she shifted around.

"Here."

She held his wand up between them, but his hands were occupied with holding her, so he blinked at her before opening his mouth.

She hesitated for a second and may have flushed, but there was no way to tell for sure, considering how red her face already was from the cold. And then she slid his wand between his teeth, just barely grazing his lips with her fingers before she shifted to hold her own weight against him by wrapping her arms around his neck. For half a second, his eyes flashed down to her trembling lips…

Regaining the use of an arm, he reached up over her shoulder and removed his wand from between his teeth as she ducked her head to the side of his neck. He sputtered slightly as a wet clump of her tangled hair ended up in his mouth, and then he gripped the back of her cloak a bit more tightly and twisted them.

With an echoing pop, they vanished, reappearing at the tree line a second later. Harry made a wide journey around the circumference of the cracked pool before joining them.

"Fffucking _hell…_ bloody _frrreezing_ ," Ron shuddered.

Hermione was violently trembling next to him, still holding on to his arm as she reached into her drenched cloak pocket for her wand with her free hand.

"H-Hurry," she chattered. "F-Find a spot, and let's s-set up the w-wards."

They moved further forward, away from the edge of the trees, quickly located a flat bit of open space, and dropped their bags to the ground. Harry circled them, chanting a familiar set of spells, and Hermione reached into her beaded bag for the tent before applying a hot air charm to Ron's clothing. Instant relief flooded him as his jeans and jumper dried considerably. She cast the same charm on herself and began opening the tent with fiercely shaking fingers, but Ron gently swatted her hands out of the way, giving her a small, crooked smile as she eyed him. And then, he set to work on the tent himself, as she wrapped her arms around her trembling body.

"That was s-so st-stupid," she shuddered. "Ron, I'm r-really s-sor-"

"Hey, s'not the fffirst time I've had to rescue someone f-from a bloody fffrozen pool."

He lifted a brow and caught Harry's eyes.

"But maybe let's w-wait for sp-spring before we go s-swimming again," he added.

Harry laughed, shaking his head, as he joined in Ron's efforts on the opposite side of the tent, and Hermione began looking around for suitable logs to start a fire.

* * *

In spite of the cold, they were quite efficient, and the three of them were inside within a quarter of an hour. The possibility of an early sunset proved correct, and it was almost completely dark out by the time they were changing into dry clothes. Ron had only managed to re-dress in a fresh pair of boxers when he noticed the streaks of pond mud caking his calves. He was considering a shower when he heard Harry and Hermione talking in the sitting room.

"Don't you have more dittany left?" Harry was asking her.

"I'd rather save it for something bigger. We might not be able to get more."

Ron poked his head out from the loo and caught sight of Hermione. She had changed into a tiny pair of grey cotton shorts that he thought he recognised from several years ago, when they'd fit her differently… They'd not been nearly as tiny, in perspective.

But then he noticed the long scrape down the side of her leg, and he abandoned the loo altogether to approach her.

"Is that from the ice?" he asked, shocked.

She turned to look over at him but froze momentarily, eyes skipping down and back up his almost naked body. He'd forgotten he was only wearing his pants. His ears warmed a bit, but he was too distracted by her injury to think much about it.

"Yes. It's not bad," she shrugged.

"Doesn't look _good_."

"I'll just clean it, and it'll heal fine. Don't want to waste supplies we might need for something more serious later." He was still sceptically eyeing her when her eyebrows shot up, and she approached him. "Hold up your arm."

"Huh?"

She reached for his left wrist and lifted it herself, leaning around him to have a look at the back of his arm.

"Yours doesn't look much better," she pointed out, narrowing her eyes a bit before her gaze turned concerned again.

"My what?"

"Didn't you notice?" she asked, surprised. "You've got a big scrape above your elbow."

"Oh. Prob'ly still too numb to feel it…"

"We should clean it," she suggested, dropping his wrist and passing by him to go through into the loo, leaving the flap open.

"We can switch shifts," Harry offered. "I'll take first watch."

"Yeah, alright. Cheers."

"Pasties are almost gone. What about those tinned peas you mentioned before?"

Ron wrinkled his nose but shrugged, disinterested.

"They're in my rucksack, if you want them."

Harry went to the sofa to pick up Ron's bag.

" _Want_ is a strong word," Harry said, as he removed two tins, "but I'll leave some on the stove for you and Hermione," and he headed through to the kitchen and out of sight.

"Come here, Ron," Hermione requested, from behind him. He turned around and headed through to the loo where she was running a clean cloth under warm water. "Let me see-"

"Y'know," he interrupted, "you aren't supposed to be helping _me_ when you've got a massive scrape down the side of your leg-"

"Oh, you're being dramatic. Show me your arm."

He pressed his lips together, enjoying her tone of voice _way_ more than he probably should. But he did as he was told, turning slightly to give her a full view of the side and back of his arm. She very gently wiped it clean with her warm cloth, but as she continued, her movements slowed down and eventually stopped.

She lowered her hand and chewed her bottom lip.

"What?"

"I might sit in the tub with the shower on, to warm up…" she started, quietly, "and it'll be easier to take care of my leg and your arm if- well. Do you… want to get in with me?"

A strangled feeling rose up from his chest to his throat, and he hoped she wouldn't see his eyes widen before he'd had a chance to calm them down.

"I mean, only if you want to…" she added, somewhat repetitively, eyes darting at about the level of his collarbones.

"Uh, yeah, I-"

"I'll leave my vest and shorts on," she clarified, eyes dropping even lower as her face burned scarlet.

"Okay."

She didn't quite seem to believe he'd agreed to it, lifting her gaze to his face very slowly. She blinked, and he cleared his throat lightly.

"Maybe we should close-" He tilted his head in the direction of the half-open flap through to the sitting room, and she nodded, moving around him to tie it shut.

For something to do, he went ahead and crossed to the shower, turning on and adjusting the water until steam was rising. He tugged back the curtain, set his wand on the edge, and stepped over. She quickly joined him on the opposite side, and they sat facing each other, almost immediately soaked through by comforting warmth. She bent her left knee up and brushed her palm over her wound, cleaning blood and a bit of dirt from it. It didn't actually look very deep, she didn't seem at all concerned, and he was quickly distracted by the reality of what they were doing.

No matter how innocent he tried to make it, the words _taking a shower together_ were pretty immovable.

She leaned back slightly and settled with her legs crossed. It wasn't like he _tried_ to look, but it was impossible not to notice before determining that he probably _shouldn't_. Now that her meager clothing was wet, he could basically see directly through the thin, off-white cotton of her top… and her bra must have been flesh coloured, because it was doing almost nothing to prevent him from spotting her hardened nipples pressing through the fabric.

This had been the most terrible (amazing) idea ever.

Half of his brain frantically tried to shut down all thoughts in general, while the other half began to slowly panic about the fact that he was sitting very close to her, almost naked. The slightly dull-pressured spray from the shower was offset a bit to his left, and he leaned toward it, closing his eyes as the water cascaded over his face. He could distantly feel her watching him, but he forced himself to ignore it as he leaned back again, wiping a hand up his face and pushing back his soaked fringe before he opened his eyes again.

Her own eyes darted rapidly away from him.

He twisted until his injured arm was in the direct path of running water, barely feeling a stinging pain spreading up his bicep. He turned his head awkwardly to look at it.

"Yeah, this is nothing," he shrugged.

"Looked worse before," she said. "Your skin was dirty from the pond, I guess…"

"That looks better, too," he pointed out, indicating her scraped leg with a nod.

She shifted the tiniest bit, and her toes brushed against the side of his foot. It didn't seem necessary at all to continue over-thinking every damn action, but he did it, anyway… perhaps for old time's sake. And then, staring down, he laid his palm on her ankle… slid his hand up just a bit.

Startling him slightly, she reached down to feel her own calf, grimacing. He was on the point of asking what was up when she reached outside the shower for her wand and ran it down, over her leg. He moved his hand out of the way as she reached her ankle, but she quickly moved to the other leg, and his curiosity led him to touch her again. Though he hadn't really noticed before, her skin was obviously much smoother now, and he realised she'd shaved her legs with a nonverbal spell.

"Brilliant."

"Well, no… it's quite annoying, actually," she sighed, "because I've been working on the charm for years and only just recently got it to last more than a few days."

"Right, you _must_ be rubbish, then," he said, dripping with sarcasm and just barely refraining from rolling his eyes. "I'm still too afraid of slicing open my neck to do it half that fast, even aloud."

She smiled, evidently trying to hide it as she ducked further forward and finished her other leg, replacing her wand outside the shower just as he ran a hand across his rough jaw and reached for his own wand. He twirled it briefly between his fingers before tilting his head to the side.

"What are you doing?" she asked, rather curtly.

He blinked at her, head still tilted awkwardly.

"Shaving."

She seemed oddly stunned by this mundane piece of information.

"Why?"

He relaxed his position to look at her properly, lowering his wand slightly. He didn't really think she needed to hear him say why. It was quite obvious, he reckoned, from looking at him. A few days of stubble was rapidly turning into a scruffy, ginger beard.

He reached for her hand and lifted it to the side of his face, pressing it there under his own hand and rubbing it back and forth. He lifted an eyebrow, assuming that no further explanations would be necessary. But, when he let go of her hand, she remained there, her fingers inching up his jaw, very gently touching his stubbly skin. Her eyes met his, and he realised she'd moved a good bit closer, while they'd been preoccupied with spells and shaving…

She wasn't close enough for him to kiss her without moving his legs, but-

"Does it bother you?" she asked in a small voice, briefly rubbing his face again.

"No, not really," he said, scratchily. "Itches a bit, sometimes."

He could tell she was working up to saying something nerve-wracking.

"I really like it." She dropped her hand from his face and stared down at his knees, tucked up between them.

He studied her for a moment, now that she couldn't see him, able to stare without worrying about what his face was doing… He realised he was holding his wand for no reason, considering there was no way in hell he was shaving now. So, he dropped it back to the side of the shower with a clatter. Her eyes drifted back up to his, curiously. He met her gaze and smiled.

"Oh!" She leaned suddenly forward a bit, and he held his breath. But then she picked up her wand again and aimed it across the room. "Accio." Her beaded bag flew over and she caught it, reaching in and pulling out a bar of soap.

"What's wrong with that one?" he questioned with the raise of a brow, gesturing toward the thin bar of soap that permanently resided in the bath.

She smiled and held her new soap up between them.

"This is a special handmade kind my… my mum used to buy."

She sniffed, and he knew exactly why. Mentioning her parents was always going to remind her where they were and what she had done. In an effort to distract her, he became suddenly _very_ interested in the soap.

"Oh yeah? Been keeping the good stuff hidden for yourself while Harry and I slog through using the rubbish one?"

"No," she laughed. "Well, maybe…"

He grinned, proud of himself for successfully managing to make her smile.

"You can use it, but just today," she added, smirking slightly and scrubbing it between her hands before handing it off to him. She soaped up her arms, gliding her hands over her shoulders… and he tensed dramatically. She shoved her hair back, and her fingers brushed up the side of her exposed neck...

But he became distracted again quite quickly by the smell… a little bit spicy, like cinnamon, with a hint of something light and sweet. It was so oddly familiar, and it didn't take him more than two seconds to realise he'd smelled this exact soap on her while at Hogwarts.

"You had this at school, didn't you."

"Yes," she said, pausing in her washing, "but how'd you know that?"

"Recognise the smell."

He lifted the soap bar to his nose and inhaled.

"I like it."

"Oh," she said, quietly. Her eyes softened, and she looked a bit mesmerised.

"Sorry, is that mental? Dunno. You smelled like this a lot."

"Well…" she started, and her entire face flushed a brilliant rose. She hesitated, dropping her hands down to rest on her mostly bare legs. Whatever she was about to say, it was almost choking her. "Is it mental to smell someone's hair in Amortentia?"

His stomach twisted, and he wasn't sure he could breathe. He tried it, just barely managed it, and blinked at her.

"Huh? You use this on your hair?"

He realised his mistake the moment he'd said it, because her eyes widened considerably.

"You… _smelled that_?" she half-whispered, at a much higher pitch than normal.

"Well… not exactly." It wasn't entirely uncomfortable, the way he felt, but he was both physically and suddenly very emotionally exposed in a way he hadn't expected or planned for when he'd spoken. Now, that feeling was fading only slightly to make way for confusion. "You didn't mean… Right. So, what are you on about with your hair, then?"

She paused only long enough to exhale, resigned, between her parted lips.

"I meant _your_ hair."

"You smelled my hair…" he said slowly, almost not wanting the words to escape, in case the mere act of calling up the specifics of her admission might nullify it.

She nodded, just once. He might not have caught it if he wasn't currently incapable of blinking, for fear he'd miss something. Shocked wasn't going to cover the way he felt. Overwhelmed? _Relieved_? There wasn't a word.

"What's my hair smell like?" he finally managed to ask, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It seemed to be infectious, as her own lips twitched.

"I can't explain it. Just smells like you."

Him. She'd smelled him in a fucking love potion. The full force of it was hitting him in waves.

But… goddamn it. They'd smelled the sodding Amortentia in Potions at the beginning of sixth year. And what the hell had he done with the next few months? The pleasurably twisted knot in his stomach clenched into something much more closely resembling painful remorse.

He couldn't go back, as much as he wanted to smack his sixteen year old self, hard, for being such a selfish, jealous prat not to understand. All he could do now was what he should have done too many times before to count. Take the next step. Tell her, as much as he could, without doing what she'd asked him not to do.

"I smelled that bloody perfume I gave you," he started in a deep, raspy voice, "which I can't believe you actually wore. I didn't even know what it was, at first, just that it was how you smelled for a year. And something sort of sweet, which I reckon was the soap, now that you've shown me… Oh, and old books, which has to be from spending so much time with you in the library… and the way the air smells when you're high up on a broom… thinner, and a bit like it does after it rains."

She was staring at him with a new mixture of emotions he couldn't place. He only knew they made his heart feel powerful inside his chest, his fingers twitch to touch her…

"You _really…_ " she sniffed, and he thought she might be on the verge of crying, but she blinked a few times and lightly rested her hand on his leg.

He reached over and traced the tips of his fingers over her knuckles as the steam from the shower continued to fill the air around them.

"I brought it with me out here, the perfume," she finally said, softly, "only I haven't wanted to wear it again because I'm running low and couldn't duplicate it accurately…"

"You tried?" His eyebrows lifted a bit, but there was only so much more shock and surprise he could feel after her previous admissions.

"A few times, but it doesn't come out quite right."

"You realise I had no bloody idea what I was doing when I bought you that, yeah?"

"I know," she grinned.

They were really _very_ close, and he became once again aware of how much skin was exposed between them. She leaned just the tiniest bit further until her chest was pressed to his shins. The thought occurred to him that he could let his knees part and her body would fall against his chest… His hand reached up to thread in her hair, palm smoothing along the side of her neck.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his knees, licking water off her lips.

"Sometimes I really hate this plan," she whispered.

"Hm?"

Rather than answering him, she squeezed her body against his legs, so tight, and he knew she wanted what he'd considered before. He paused only long enough to decide not to fight it.

He just barely parted his knees, and she significantly released her grip on him, sliding through the gap. He gave in completely and dropped his legs down flat on either side of her as her hands smoothed up his chest to his shoulders, and she lifted herself to his lap, all of a sudden straddling his hips, knees down against the porcelain on either side of him.

" _Shit…_ "

His hands flew to her back as she moaned softly, very lightly dropping her weight. He was instantly entirely turned on. Her wet skin was sliding against his, and his suddenly aching erection was pressing up between her legs, and he was so lightheaded he couldn't feel parts of his face. The blush across her cheeks darkened, and she gasped in a few consecutive bursts, evidently as affected by what she could feel as he was.

He didn't think about what he was doing until he was already doing it, but she moved her hips, and he made a sound like a low growl in the back of his throat as he lowered a hand to her arse, fingers curving inward. Both shocked, they inhaled sharply, and her eyes snapped shut as she swayed vaguely on top of him. But he reversed quickly, drifting both hands up the back of her shirt until his forearms were extended against wet skin, and he could feel a significant portion of her bare stomach on his own.

She collapsed into him, ducking her head over his shoulder.

"Sorry," she mumbled into his ear, lips brushing him as water dripped down the side of his neck.

He shook his head and clutched her a fraction tighter.

"It's so hard not to kiss you," she whispered, her face entirely hidden against the side of his neck.

He closed his eyes, agreeing with a smile that she couldn't see.

"Last night when I… heard you-"

He shivered, and his fingers dug into her shoulder blades.

"-I came over to the loo because I wanted to give up and just do it."

"Can't give up," he muttered, not even quite sure what he was saying. He reckoned he _must_ believe in it, even more than his body sometimes thought he did. She lifted her head from his neck to look him in the eyes.

"Is it easier if I don't touch you-"

"No." He cut off her anguished voice with a solid response. He never wanted to make her feel like that. Ever. Every moment she was close to him, touching him, far outweighed the aching resistance when her lips were parting, a breath from his own.

He could do _this_ , but he couldn't stop holding onto her, stop moving the tips of his fingers across her goosefleshed skin… now that he knew what it was like, now that he knew she wanted him. But, if she was going to stay sitting in his lap for much longer, in tiny shorts and a see-through vest, she might find herself way too physically aware of what she'd only heard through the wall, the previous night…

Her eyes darted to his mouth, and she lifted a hand to brush the tips of her fingers across his lips. He smiled slowly, her gaze full of desire, and his expression turned mesmerised, vaguely shaking his head.

"What?"

"Do you really think about it a lot?" His own gaze fell to her lips, and understanding flashed across her face.

"You have no idea how much," she said in a low voice.

"Reckon I do," he corrected. "I was thinking about it when we were in the sodding ice water."

"So was I," she grinned, cheeks tinged a deep pink, "when I had to put your wand between your teeth…"

He laughed as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Hey, my arms were busy," he reasoned.

She tutted at him in mild, playful annoyance.

"You could've worked it out."

He lifted a brow and slipped his hands down her back to her waist.

"Questioning my methods? Who saved who?"

"Shut up," she laughed, pressing both palms to his chest.

With no warning, there was suddenly a calamitous pattering against the walls and ceiling of the tent, and their widened eyes shot up toward the sound.

"Is that _ice_?" Hermione asked, in mild disbelief, speaking significantly louder than she had been before, to be heard over the noise.

"Bloody hell. Sounds like."

"I should go help Harry with a shield."

"Right. I haven't even used this," he said, indicating the soap bar she'd given him, now resting on the floor of the shower. "I'll come help when I'm done."

She shifted in his lap, and his eyes rolled shut.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned in a low voice, barely audible under the uproarious sounds of the ice storm.

"Ron… I'm sorry," she said, sadly, and when he opened his eyes, he could tell just how much she meant it. She swallowed and held onto his arm, and he took a deep breath.

"Don't," he said. "Isn't it the same for you?"

He honestly didn't know, so it was good information to learn for sure when she nodded somewhat enthusiastically.

"I'm also fairly used to this particular problem, whether or not you're in my lap," he said as she pressed her lips together, avoiding a grin.

"What are you planning to do about it?" she asked, clearly shocking herself that she'd managed to say such a thing as she exhaled shakily.

"That's between me and the shower," he teased, suppressing laughter at her slightly widened eyes. Somehow, the noise of the ice storm intensified even further. "Better hurry before Harry gets knocked out by fucking hail."

She nodded as she stood, water rushing off her body. His eyes slid slowly up her legs, over her hips… and she turned to step out of the shower. He forcefully tore his gaze away from her arse in thin, soaked cotton. She reached for her towel, vigorously attacking her hair with it, before heading toward the tightly closed canvas flap and untying it. He tugged the shower curtain shut, reaching for the soap as she left him alone.

* * *

They'd taken protective measures from the storm, finished their unimpressive dinner, and Harry had resumed first watch. Ron was standing between their bunks, sorting and drying the rest of his clothing, when Hermione returned from the loo in her pyjama trousers… and one of his shirts.

"Do you mind?" she asked, tugging the hem.

"'Course not."

She relaxed fully and climbed into bed as he extinguished the lanterns. He stretched and tugged the blankets back to climb in next to her, and, almost as soon as his head hit her pillow, she draped her arm over his stomach and nestled her head against his shoulder. He shifted to wrap his arm around her, and she moved her cheek to his chest, exhaling slowly.

He ran his hand slowly up and down her back, only recognising what was missing after the third or fourth time. He felt only smooth cotton against her skin, no bra straps. This immediately brought to mind the knowledge that her completely naked upper body was under his clothes.

"Thanks for saving me out there," she said, interrupting his thoughts, and he could just spot her grinning as he twisted his head to see her face.

"Don't know what you'd do without me," he teased, pressing his nose to the top of her head.

"Neither do I," she said, in a much softer voice, fingers curling to clutch his shirt in a loose fist.


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N:** I should probably blame diva-gonzo for implanting my subconscious with trio thoughts this week :)_

* * *

The temperature had dropped considerably, overnight, and dawn had arrived so murky and grey that it was difficult to tell when it was actually light enough out to call morning. As the hours wore on, Harry joined a quiet Hermione in the sitting room with a look of somber detachedness. It wasn't that Ron didn't understand. Some combination of the storm and their isolation, mingling with their frustrating attempts at getting anywhere on their mission was creating a rather depressing cocktail. But he wasn't sure what to do, either.

The afternoon proceeded with a kind of listlessness that none of them could shake. Ron wasn't very good at just sitting still in one location and thinking. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to be managing it for hours on end, day after day. And Hermione…

The truth was that Ron knew how easy it was to let himself be distracted by her. She'd tuck her hair behind her ear or her toes would brush against his leg, and he'd drift off to a distant future when they were safe, free, and when nothing stood between them - no mission, no war… But then he also knew, when he had to remind himself not to feel guilty, that things had been just as bad, if not worse, before he'd understood how she felt. When he couldn't touch her, stare at her for much longer than was strictly friendly, _kiss_ her…

Okay. So, that last part was… complicated. But if he really reflected on it, knowing that at least one big part of his life was on the right track made it simpler, in some very important ways. The exciting nerves that still built in his stomach and chest when he was close to her had a clear destination now, and she was aware. He didn't have to hide. Maybe he never had, only he'd not been standing in the blinding light, mere weeks ago.

Nevermind if it made it that much harder now to imagine ever losing her-

No. He couldn't think like that. He couldn't forget that it _had_ been just as bad before, hadn't it? Because he'd loved her just as much as he did today - it had merely been fearfully hiding away from her view, twisted in anger and insecurity… and now, he was just letting it _be_ there. Nothing was going to happen to her just because the dread of it seemed more present.

By sundown, he decided to start dinner on his own, mostly because he really couldn't think of what else to do to keep busy. He spent way too long working on damn porridge, but he thought that the least he could do was to try and make himself a useful asset to the chores that had (aided, just a bit, by a slice Voldemort's soul) driven a wedge between them before he'd gone. He could easily drift to making a comprehensive, self-destructive list of all the things he'd said that still left a bitter taste of regret echoing through him… but he removed the saucepan from the stove and poured out what he'd made into three bowls, trying to forget it.

Heading back into the sitting room, he levitated their dinner behind him, and he slumped down on the sofa next to Hermione.

"Give it a mo' to cool down," he said, carefully flicking his wand so that the bowls lightly landed on the coffee table.

"We should move in closer to the villages," Hermione said, dully. "Ron was right."

"Might as well stay here for a little while, though," Harry countered. "We're well hidden, and it would be pointless to move in a blizzard."

"Got enough porridge for a few more days," Ron added, "but, after that, reckon we'll have to go somewhere else for more food, anyway."

They fell into a dreary silence for several long breaths before Hermione worked her arm out of her tightly wrapped blanket and aimed her wand vaguely toward the kitchen table. A small stack of books zoomed over and landed on the sofa cushion next to her. Ron glanced at the spines, noting that at least two of them didn't seem to be about anything related to their mission, or honestly even magic, at all. Finding this oddly comforting, he slouched further down into the sofa and stuffed his cold hands into his coat pockets.

"Think this is alright now?" Harry asked, impatiently gesturing toward their steaming dinner.

Ron shrugged, which was apparently all the motivation Harry needed. He picked up a bowl and tucked in, eyebrows lifting with alarm as he finished his first bite.

"What is this?" he asked.

"All we had left, sorry."

Harry shook his head, unable to respond around the gigantic second bite he had taken. Comfortably surrounded by books, Hermione disinterestedly reached for a bowl, distracted by a colourful page in the edible plants manual she had laid open across her lap. She took one bite, and her eyes flicked over to Ron.

"Why is this so good?" she asked, startled.

"Is it?" He reached for his own bowl and had to admit - though it wasn't going to win any awards, it was quite passable compared to a lot of other things they'd attempted to call edible.

"Okay, what did you do?" Harry inquired, shoveling down his food now, surely ignoring some mild burns in the process.

"Dunno. Just rummaged around til I found stuff to try. There was an old jar of honey in the back of a cupboard, so I softened that and added it in."

Everyone fell silent as they ate, until Hermione slowed down and finally stopped, glancing at Ron in a slightly suspicious way.

"What?" he asked around a mouthful of porridge.

"You've proved your point," she sighed. "I'm a rubbish cook, but _you_ can do just fine with basically no ingredients, so-"

"What?" he repeated as he swallowed, lowering his bowl to his lap. "You think I'm rubbing it in? I only started cooking more because I felt like an arse for making _you_ feel bad about it before…"

"Well," she sniffed, "carry on, because we all know it's better than I can do, anyway."

"I swear I didn't do anything special," he said. "Prob'ly spent way too long stirring when the water wasn't hot enough, but that's not exactly a fancy trick to producing amazing food…"

"Maybe it's the honey," Harry commented, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "but you could also take the compliment… and accept cooking duties for the rest of our _holiday_."

Harry grinned, and Ron shook his head, chuckling. But, somehow, Hermione still seemed a tad conflicted about the whole thing.

"Maybe you can show us what you did, next time," she said softly.

"Dunno if I can repeat it. Wasn't paying that much attention. Let's call this luck, yeah?"

They finished eating in silence, and Harry stood to collect the dishes.

"I'm thinking we should go back to three shifts, at least for tonight," he suggested. "It's too cold for anyone to be out there for six hours."

Hermione hummed a sort of vague agreement before she got up off the sofa, snatched her beaded bag from the side table, and went for the loo.

"I'll take first," Harry suggested, before disappearing into the kitchen.

* * *

Ron was standing just outside the flap, with Harry, cloak tugged tight over his pyjamas. Snow drifts pressed into the walls of the tent from the outside, giving the impression that they'd been lost, exactly here, for a very long time.

"You have to think it's _possible_ ," Harry said, huddling closer to Ron before lowering his wand to the ground and blasting a hole through the snow, large enough for him to sit with his back against the canvas flap. There was no point moving away from the tent tonight.

Harry scuffed his trainers in the dirt before crouching and settling into his spot.

Ron stared down at him, hunching his shoulders a bit as a gust of icy wind whistled past.

"Think what's possible?" he asked, eyes locked on the top of Harry's head as he adjusted his glasses.

"The Hallows."

Ron sighed, briefly closing his eyes.

"Half the things we do seem bloody impossible til we've done them. I admit that," he said. "But this just doesn't feel right. Nevermind if I believe it could be true. That's not really the point, is it?"

"Well, it _might_ be," Harry said, staring forward into the glowing landscape, reflecting light from the moon, which had emerged between clouds. "You could talk to Hermione-"

"No, I couldn't," Ron cut in quickly. "I know you think I only agreed with her to get back in her good books, but that's not true."

Harry finally looked up at him, then, a very sceptical green gaze glinting through his glasses.

"If You-Know-Who's after this wand you're on about, whether or not you think he knows about this Hallows shite," Ron continued, "then it just means he's distracted from the Horcruxes, which makes them that much easier to find and destroy without him noticing. Why do you think you haven't felt him getting worked up over losing the locket? That was a part of his fucking _soul_ , and he doesn't miss it. No one knows what we're doing, even h-"

"You should go back inside," Harry interrupted, staring forward again. "Tell Hermione to go to bed. She wanted second watch."

Ron stared down at his best mate for a long time, at a loss. But, finally, he gave up for the night and turned around to cross through the flap to the dimly lantern-lit sitting room, where he found Hermione half-lying, half-sitting up against the arm of the sofa, her legs extended down the length under a blanket, a large book in her lap. His first thought was to suggest they go to bed, but he somehow didn't feel like bothering… He had a better idea.

Removing his cloak, he pressed a knee into the sofa cushion by her feet, and he crawled up, squeezing between her body and the back of the sofa until he was lying on his side, propping up on his elbow to glance at the book she was reading. She stared at him, unable to hide her amusement.

"Can I help you?" she laughed, softly.

"Yeah, you can quit being stingy with the blanket," he grinned. "It's freezing."

He tugged the tartan that was tightly wrapped around her legs, and she bent her knees up so he could pull it out from under her and drape it over himself. Stretching her legs out straight again, she closed her book and dropped it off the side of the sofa, to the floor.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "you didn't have to-"

"My eyes were getting tired, anyway," she said, shuffling down completely off the sofa arm to rest her head on the flat throw pillow she'd been using to cushion her back, and she turned onto her side, away from him.

He looped his arm over her waist so casually that he shocked himself for a moment, but she reacted immediately by pressing her body tighter to his and holding onto his arm. He snaked his other arm under the pillow she was using and moved his face closer to the back of her head.

"Do you think Harry's lonely?" she asked, quietly.

"Probably." He knew that wasn't going to make her feel better, but it was the truth. But then he sensed what she was going to say next, before she said it, and he instantly regretted being truthful…

"Should we… be more careful? I don't want to make him feel worse."

He breathed deeply for a moment, a part of him already panicking at the mere suggestion that maybe they shouldn't be so close.

"We can make room for him up here," he muttered, into her hair, and he bent his knees up behind hers a bit further to demonstrate. It took her a moment to follow what he meant, and then she shook lightly with laughter. He closed his eyes and smiled.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she said, wildly changing the subject. He blinked his eyes open again, confused.

"Hm?"

"I know you weren't trying to make me feel bad with dinner."

"Oh." He cleared his throat. "Well, you can let me be better at _one_ thing, yeah?"

She pinched his forearm, and he winced but didn't pull away. She shifted around for a second, and her arse pressed more firmly against him.

"Stop that," he insisted, stilling her movement by withdrawing his hand back to her hip. She turned her head the tiniest bit, and he could see colour flooding her cheeks.

"Sorry," she said, quite sincerely, on the point of moving away.

"Don't do that either," he grinned, realising how mental he sounded.

She huffed and grabbed his hand, yanking his arm back over her waist.

"Why don't I just lie here perfectly still, and you can do whatever you want-" She cut herself off, clearly realising how she sounded.

He closed his eyes again and gripped the edge of the frayed sofa cushion in front of her stomach. She cleared her throat and changed the subject, yet again.

"What was the name of that little village you mentioned before we came here? Upper something?"

"Upper Flagley," he recalled.

"Let's go tomorrow," she suggested. "Once we set up camp, you and I can get under the cloak and have a look around. But maybe _you_ ought to tell Harry. He listens to you more than he does me, right now."

"Not so sure about that," he countered. "He tried to get me on his side again tonight, but I told him we needed to focus on the Horcruxes, as usual, and he was done with the conversation after that."

She sighed, running her fingers absentmindedly across the back of his hand.

"We're missing something," she said at a near-whisper, "must be. If we could just show him we're making progress…"

"Yeah."

They remained silent for a while, and just as he was beginning to suspect she'd fallen asleep, she reached down to tug their blanket higher up the front of her body, clutching it at her neck. Her hair bunched more thickly in his face, and he wrinkled his nose, letting go of her to reach his hand up and smooth it down.

Another long silence stretched, and then she rolled over, very carefully, so as not to fall off the edge of the sofa, and came to rest on her back, turning her head to look at him. He swallowed and slid his hand up her arm, across her body, over her shoulder toward her neck. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, and he pushed up halfway to his elbow, gaze fixing on her mouth.

Go on, he thought. Just a bit closer.

His fingertips landed in front of her ear, and he ducked his head, just enough that he could feel her hot, shaky breath against his lips.

It was such a bad idea, he knew, but he stayed there, closing eyes.

"Please," she whispered, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw tears filling hers. Was she begging him to stop… or to keep going?

He dropped his hand to her hair and propped up a bit further on his elbow, putting a lot more distance between their faces.

"Wasn't gonna do it," he reassured her, though he honestly couldn't believe how close he had been. It would have taken basically nothing, one tiny motion of encouragement, and he might have.

She shuddered and her forehead creased in a way that closely resembled pain before she flipped onto her side again, away from him, and drew their blanket back up to her neck.

He remained quite frozen, staring down at her, realising how low the lanterns had burned, a shadowy glow pulsing slowly, splashing their canvas walls in a deep golden grey. They should go to bed, he considered, knowing how conflicted she felt over Harry's loneliness and not wanting to give her another reason to put distance between them. Though, he berated, he'd done an excellent job of reminding her how easy it would be to break the rules.

He almost smiled at his labeling of holding back as a rule, and he lowered his head to their pillow again. He didn't think he'd fall asleep, anyway, now that his stomach was twisted tight again and his pulse was rapidly beating, fluttering through the vein in the side of his neck…

* * *

He opened his eyes, too surprised at first to realise that he _had_ slept, and for quite a while, judging from the nearly extinguished lanterns and the sound of running water coming from the loo. He sat up behind Hermione just as Harry emerged, looking disheveled and sleepy and cold.

"Oi, come warm up," he called over the back of the sofa. "Plenty of room down here."

He honestly expected Harry to dismiss his offer and return to solitude, so he was surprised when Harry said nothing and walked around to the end of the sofa, instead. Hermione had just begun to stir, in front of him, so he jostled his legs underneath her thighs to sit all the way up with his feet on the ground.

"Ron, _what-_ " she started, in a scratchy, annoyed sort of voice.

"Budge over for Harry," he instructed, tapping her legs through her blanket.

Her eyes opened fully as she caught sight of Harry toeing off his boots at her feet. She bent her knees up higher across Ron's lap, and Harry took a seat.

"Here." Ron fanned the end of their blanket in Harry's direction, and he tucked it over his lap. Hermione turned over, onto her back, letting her feet come to rest accidentally on Harry's lap.

"Oh, sorry," she started, but Harry yawned and waved her off, dropping his head back. So, she left her feet there and exchanged a glance with Ron, who had just settled his right hand to rest lightly on her thigh, his left arm extending across the back of the sofa, behind Harry. "It's my watch now, isn't it? I should get up."

"Eh, we're all awake right now. It's fine," Harry reasoned.

"Well," she sniffed, "alright, but don't let me fall back to sleep."

Harry tugged the blanket up over his forearms, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

"What'd'ya suppose the ghoul's doing right now?" Ron asked, after a few minutes.

Harry grinned and turned his head to face Ron.

"Destroying your room, I'd expect."

"Ah well, it could use redecorating."

"Did you take down your posters?" Hermione asked. "To protect them, I mean."

His eyes flashed over to hers, accompanied by a lopsided smile.

"Since when do you care about the fate of those?"

"I don't," she shrugged, "but I know you like them."

His hand moved unconsciously over her thigh.

"Didn't know we'd be leaving so fast, so I didn't have time."

"Well," she sniffed, "maybe the ghoul likes them, too, and he'll leave them alone."

He laughed, imagining the ghoul cheering for the Cannons, and he had that feeling again, like they were so close to the end, to going home, to safety and a future. He wasn't sure which was better, to put reality out his mind and allow himself whatever happiness he could find, or to focus hard on the negative, to propel them to move faster. But, right now, he was exchanging a smile with Harry, Harry's eyes pointedly darting down to Ron's hand high up on Hermione's leg, and he was somewhat bizarrely enjoying the way his ears burned in response.

"Reckon they'll cancel the World Cup this year?" Ron asked Harry.

"Hadn't thought of that."

"We'll just have to defeat You-Know-Who before summer," Hermione said, yawning as she tugged her legs back off Ron's lap to sit up. "Better start my watch so you can get some sleep."

She tugged the blanket off her body and forced herself to stand, stretching before she headed to the loo. Harry cleared his throat, and they listened as Hermione turned on the sink, out of sight.

"So," Harry started, in a teasing sort of voice, once he must have assumed she couldn't hear them, "I've noticed you and Hermione have made up."

"Yeah, til the next time I do something idiotic…"

"At least there aren't any _other_ girls to snog out here," Harry said, lips twitching.

"Oh, cheers, Harry."

Ron closed his eyes for a moment, considering Harry's words in spite of the pain they would have caused him weeks ago. He felt like maybe he could put a good many of his mistakes behind him now, especially the ones he'd somehow been able to at least vaguely apologise to Hermione for...

"We haven't, by the way," he admitted, in a quiet voice.

It seemed to take Harry a moment to catch up that Ron was saying he hadn't kissed her.

"You probably _could…_ "

"Eh. It's complicated."

"I think that about sums up every aspect of your relationship though, doesn't it," Harry smirked.

Hermione emerged from the loo, just then, giving Ron no time to respond.

"You should both be in bed," she said, suddenly sounding so much like her bossy, twelve year old self that Harry and Ron both turned to grin at her over the back of the sofa.

"Yeah, yeah, we're going," Harry said.

"Hang on a second," Ron called out, as he quickly got up to follow her outside.

She stopped just through the flap, instantly shivering in the icy night air. But she tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders and stared up at him.

"What is it?" she asked, in a soft voice, her eyes darting slightly between his.

"Trust me? And don't move."

A confused crease formed between her eyes, and her lips parted slightly. Damn, that was going to make it more difficult, but he could still do it. She nodded, and he clutched her elbow, leaned down-

Could he _really_ do it?

His heart was suddenly pounding a hole through his ribs, and, though he was standing in below freezing temperatures in only a jumper and pyjamas, a warmth managed to spread up the back of his neck as he focused his eyes on her lips. He reached up with his free hand and covered her mouth with his thumb. Her hot, surprised breath wafted past, reaching his lips, and then he closed his eyes… and he was really kissing his own thumb, but his nose was touching hers, and he felt her fingers feather up, inside the front of his shirt.

But then… he felt her lips pucker around his thumb and fucking hell, if he just _breathed_ too heavily, his thumb would be a useless intervention between their mouths. His fingers spread up her jaw and cheek, and his knees weren't going to work much longer, so he pulled himself away, sucking in a sharp, desperate breath.

As he opened his eyes, he had to let go of her to keep her from feeling how much his hands were shaking.

"Was… that… cheating?" he panted.

"No," she whimpered, immediately, and he tried not to glance down at how her chest was heaving each uneven breath.

"Okay," he sighed, and he stared at her for a long moment, her eyes glistening in the golden lantern light that slipped through the tiny crack in the closed tent flap.

He didn't want to walk away. He could hardly bring himself to do it, but he was suddenly aware of the cold and the rapidly decreasing function of his legs. So, at last, he nodded, unsure what he was even trying to convey, and she smiled at him just before he turned away, heading back inside, pausing once she couldn't see him to close his eyes and take a very long, steadying inhale.


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N:**_ _As forewarned, this story is now M. Proceed with the assumption that there will continue to be scattered sexual content…_

 _Also, wow. I mean thank you all, sincerely, for reading and reviewing this story! This has maybe been the most fun I have had writing anything in months, if not years, and I'm so glad people are enjoying it with me! Love you all! x_

* * *

"Hermione reckons we ought to chuck this place today," Ron yawned, over breakfast.

Harry grunted a disinterested response, which Ron chose to take as acceptance of the plan.

"I know we said we've got food for a few days, but who wants to carry on eating porridge when we can get out of this shit weather and find something better?" He spooned said porridge into his mouth and glanced over at Hermione, who had finished eating and was clearing away her dishes.

Ron spent the next few minutes in overly optimistic, one-sided conversation with Harry, hoping to convince him that the wizarding village of Upper Flagley was at least a slightly more calculated choice aside from a random stab at a map in a direction that was likely to be a few degrees warmer. But, he was hindered in believability, he suspected, by the fact that a random shrug of a location was exactly what it _had_ been…

In any case, by mid-morning, they were packed and under the cloak and Disapparating.

The village was small and quiet, and they'd found a suitable place to camp within half an hour. Hermione was adamant that if they were going to explore the village that day, it had to be done right away, while they still had plenty of daylight hours. At least the weather was a bit above freezing, and, with a few jumpers each, layered under coats, they reckoned they could probably keep warm enough for a couple of hours in mid-afternoon, overcast light. It took a bit of convincing to get Harry to agree to stay back at their camp, but, eventually, he sulked off to run the Snitch between his palms and brood in his bunk, which gave Ron and Hermione time to go over their plan without having to worry about Harry snarking at them over their continued insistence on Horcrux research.

"Alright," Hermione was saying, "so we've got to find food, which should be doable in the Muggle town, and then you wanted to poke around the wizarding side to see if anything interesting pops up."

"Yeah, and we can stay under the cloak for the poking around bit."

She nodded and draped Harry's cloak over her arm.

"I should do the charms for your hair again."

"What about yours?" he asked, raising a brow.

"I can tie it back and change it blonde."

"Or, you can just stay under the cloak while I get the food-"

She smacked his arm rather hard and turned away to grab her beaded bag, so he shut his mouth and waited as she said goodbye to Harry, who simply grunted in response as they headed for the tent entrance.

"He'll feel better once we've brought back a feast," Ron said, trying to keep optimistic as Hermione chewed her lip anxiously.

"I hope you're right. Stand still so I can charm your hair."

He stopped a few steps outside the tent as she swiped her wand over his head, walked in a circle around him, and then returned to change his rapidly growing beard.

"You sure I shouldn't just shave this off?"

He ran a hand across his jaw, but she sniffed and stared up at him in silence, so he tugged up the corner of his mouth.

"Right. It can stay," he shrugged. She attempted to mask her own smile as she cleared her throat, and then she aimed her wand at herself and, before he could offer to do it for her, had changed her hair to a sort of subdued, ashy blonde. He wrinkled his nose, finding it odd, as usual, to see her with different features. She tried to pull her hair up by gathering it in both mittened hands, but frustration built in the creases of her face and she sighed.

"Hang on. You still got that elastic thing?"

She rolled up her sleeve and showed him. Rather than explaining himself, he reached for it and tugged it off her wrist, gesturing for her to turn around.

"My hands are bigger," he rationalised, as she turned her back toward him, and he gathered her hair in both hands. Though it took a second to tame the frizzy pieces that were desperate to escape in the muggy weather, he managed it quite effectively and twisted the elastic around the thick bunch. "Tighter?" She reached back and felt what he'd done.

"Yes, that'll be down in a few minutes."

He twisted the band again, squeezing it higher up to the crown of her head before letting go.

"Thanks," she said, turning back to face him and feeling her hair again. "That's amazing, actually. Even better than last time. Your fault if I have to come to you every time I need that done now."

He smiled slowly, and she gazed up at him for longer than she probably should have, when they really ought to be focused on the plan, but it was going to take more than the threat of Snatchers or the risk of being seen in the village to get his mind _completely_ off of her. Fortunately, she cleared her throat first and looked away, extending the invisibility cloak to get going.

"Remember when this used to seem like a giant tent, even over all three of us together?" Ron said.

"Yeah, you're too tall for this, really."

"You'll just have to stay _really_ close to me."

He could pretend like he didn't have anything other than practicality on his mind when he said it, but he caught the corner of her mouth twitching as she handed him the cloak to throw over them both. Reaching his arms over her head, he covered them, and she shifted to stand by his side, linking their arms together. He slouched just a bit, for an extra precaution, and they looked down at their feet, satisfied that they were sufficiently hidden.

"Right, let's go," he said.

They walked in silence, out of the wards, continuing on for several minutes without speaking. They'd planned which direction to go to enter the Muggle side from the quiet end, so it was just a matter of getting there, finding a shop, and finding a place to hide in order to reveal themselves.

"Who do we say we are, when we get there?" Hermione whispered, as they came within sight of the end of what appeared to be the main road.

"Don't reckon we'll _have_ to say."

"But we need a story, just in case. Who were you when you went to the baker's?"

"A bloody hungry bloke who wanted some pasties."

She squeezed his arm tighter, but he could feel her lightly shaking with repressed laughter.

"Come on," she hissed, slowing their pace to finish their conversation. "We're… let's see… a Muggle couple, on holiday from London."

"Yeah, alright."

"Let's find a place to hide."

* * *

Ten minutes later, they were walking through a small Muggle market, and she was apparently quite intent on their cover story, because she hadn't let go of his hand. And though there were only a couple of other people around, he kept thinking about how it was the first time they'd been in public, acting like an actual couple. Not that this was _real_ , exactly, but he could imagine it might be, eventually, which was making his stomach flutter every time she looked at him.

They'd just finished paying for their food and had quietly left the market when he saw it. Across the narrow river, straight ahead, a cluster of hooded men who he knew immediately to be Snatchers. They were heading toward the bridge that led directly over the water, from the other side. All Ron's thoughts from earlier about being too caught up with Hermione to take things overly seriously had suddenly vanished, and he slipped his hand out of hers to grab her firmly by the arm.

"Hermione, quick," he hissed, tugging her off the main road and down an alleyway to their left.

"Ron, what-"

"Get under the cloak."

"We aren't hidden well enough to-"

"We have to. _Now_."

He removed it from his pocket, eyes flicking back to the three men who had already made it halfway across the bridge, and he tossed the cloak over her head, ducking under with her and slouching over her shoulder to make sure his feet were covered as she reached for her wand.

"Snatchers," he whispered, lips brushing her ear as he spoke.

She sucked in a breath, and they remained frozen, staring forward, as the three men reached the road and turned right, heading across the entrance to the alleyway in which Ron and Hermione were huddled, hardly breathing. The Snatchers stopped walking, metres away, and one man removed a cigarette pack from his pocket, lighting one surreptitiously with his wand. Relief flowed through Ron, but he remained quite still and speechless. At least the Snatchers didn't seem to have come over because they'd spotted anything suspicious…

But they were taking too damn long, and he could feel Hermione lightly shaking in front of him. At least the Snatchers were beginning to make loud conversation, which he irrationally hoped could drown out the beating of his heart. As long as they didn't move, the Snatchers would eventually leave, and they could slip by, round the end of the main road, and cut through the woods for better cover, rather than taking the paved lane they'd walked down on the way into the village.

His neck was cramping by the time the Snatchers finally dropped their cigarette ends to the ground, stomped them out with the toes of their boots, and meandered away, voices dying out as they put distance between themselves and the alleyway.

Hermione exhaled slowly and lowered her wand a bit.

"Let's get out of here," she whispered, "before they come back. We'll have to skip the wizarding village."

He nodded and she took his arm, and they stuck very close together as they made their way out of the alleyway, toward the woods. The moment they crossed through the treeline, their boots sank in icy mud, though they had no choice but to slog through it to reach the other side. Filthy water seeped through to his socks, and he wasn't sure if he was more looking forward to their dinner or to the prospect of dry feet.

"I'm still furious that you left us," Hermione said, once they were well away from the roads, deeply hidden in the trees, "but thank Merlin you knew about those Snatchers, Ron. If they'd seen us…"

"Yeah. I'd trade not knowing about it for _not_ leaving, but I reckon if I can't have a time turner, I might as well've learned something bloody useful…"

They trudged along in silence for a while, and he was just noticing how much she was shivering when she spoke again.

"My boots are soaked through. Harry had better be bloody grateful."

He smiled as they reached the edge of the muddy woods and turned down the slope toward their camp.

"Mine too, but I think he's got first watch. He thought we'd switch back to your idea about six hour shifts. Makes me wonder if he actually _enjoys_ staying up half the night, obsessing."

"We didn't get to see much of the village," she sighed, regretfully, "and I'm not sure we can do it safely now we know those Snatchers are about."

"If we start early tomorrow, we could make a wide circle and come up on the wizarding side from a distance, have a look and stay back if we see them again."

"Maybe."

He glanced down to see her chewing her lip in contemplation, but they had reached the wards, so he turned to look over his shoulder, to be sure they hadn't been followed.

"Think it's safe to take off the cloak?" he asked her.

"Let's wait a few minutes and make sure."

So, they found a tree with large roots and sat down, silently waiting for a vague feeling that enough time had passed. Ron finally nodded and they stood, walking right up to the absolute edge of the barrier before throwing off the cloak. The wards came immediately down to reveal Harry waiting by the tent entrance. They crossed through and Hermione had the wards up again before Ron could even hand Harry his cloak back.

* * *

They'd stripped off their muddy boots and socks and washed up, and Hermione was currently sitting on the sofa, wearing a pair of too-big wool socks and rubbing her feet between her hands in an attempt to warm them.

"I wish it would stop being so cold," she muttered, as Harry passed around plates of potatoes. Ron sat next to her and took one large bite of his food before setting his plate on the coffee table.

"Here," he said, gesturing toward her foot. She dropped her hands away and studied him as he wrapped both large hands around her foot instead, rubbing back and forth. She sighed and seemed to make a calculated effort not to close her eyes...

"We shouldn't go out in the open again," she said. "Having a look around under the cloak is one thing, but we could have been caught… I know we were disguised, but they could have spotted our wands or just suspected us and questioned us… or even followed us back here…"

"How's the edible plants manual doing?" Ron inquired, with a lopsided smile.

"If we move a bit further south, we should be able to find a few things growing soon."

"Anyone know what day it is?" He was having trouble counting backward to the last time he'd checked.

Harry wrinkled his nose and took another bite of his food, shrugging.

"Middle of January?" he guessed.

"It's the seventeenth," Hermione answered, lightly clearing her throat as she stared down at Ron's hands on her foot. "I looked at the calendar last night."

"I can take second watch," Ron suggested, but Hermione shook her head.

"It'll be my turn tonight, going by our schedule from before. My night off is tomorrow."

He squeezed her foot without really thinking about it, and she finally did close her eyes, tilting her head back. His gaze dropped to her parted lips, down the curve of her neck... before Harry made a bit too much noise scraping his fork across his plate, and Ron remembered he was there in the first place, clearing his throat and letting go of Hermione.

* * *

Harry began his watch the moment the sun had cleared the horizon, and Ron had already changed into pyjama trousers, but he needed a clean shirt from Hermione's bag, so he was waiting by their bunks for her to come back from the loo. When she did appear, he immediately noted that she was wearing one of his shirts again and had changed into those tiny gray, cotton shorts…

He rubbed the back of his neck before gesturing toward the bag still in her hand.

"Have I got a clean shirt?" he asked, and she pressed her lips together apologetically before she spoke.

"I think I'm wearing your last one. Sorry, I'll change-"

"Nah, don't worry about it. You mind if I take this off?" He indicated the shirt he was currently wearing, and she shook her head a bit abruptly. Before he could think more of it, he reached over his shoulder and tugged his shirt off over his head from the back, dropping it to his own unused bunk.

"You go first," she said, nodding toward her bed, "so I won't wake you when I have to get up."

He climbed in, trying to shift his focus away from the fact that she had crossed her arms over her chest and was breathing nervously. Once he settled on his back, she climbed in next to him, pushing the blankets down to her waist and staring up at the canvas ceiling. He turned over to his side to look at her more closely, possibly against good judgement… She was clearly agonising over something, and he couldn't help himself.

"What?"

She closed her eyes, and he studied her profile for a few silent moments.

"I know we can't…" she started, "I mean, we've said we aren't going to, you know… but…"

She opened her eyes, slowly, and her cheeks were the approximate shade of one of his Christmas jumpers, by now, but she managed to carry on.

"If it's not too terrible to have to stop eventually, we could- we could do a bit _more…_ "

He wasn't going to be able to say actual words in reply, so he stared at her for another moment before lifting his hand to lay flat across her stomach. She fluttered her eyes shut and tilted her head further back into her pillow. Encouraged by the fact that she couldn't see him, he slid his face closer, brushing his nose up behind her ear.

His hand rubbed a shaky circle over her stomach, and it couldn't have just been his imagination when she arched her back a bit… He pushed up onto his elbow and swept his eyes down her body.

What the hell was he supposed to do? She had given quite vague instructions, and he was both terrified of doing too much and panicking that he wouldn't do enough… But, then, he shifted a bit, and his face was over her lips, and he had to turn his head to the side as she opened her eyes. Her hand covered his for a moment, and he was sure the way she grabbed his fingers and moved his hand a bit further up her body before letting go was the best suggestion he was going to get.

A large part of him was deeply invested in what he thought he was probably going to do next, but another part was so nervous that he didn't think he'd actually be able to achieve it. Fortunately, the way she was now half-panting against his cheek was making it seem quite a bit easier than it would have, otherwise.

He regretfully recalled that one particular time Lavender had got him in an empty classroom, sitting across his lap and lifting his hand nervously to her chest. He'd felt a lot of strange padding through her blouse, vaguely registering her nipple poking up against her bra. But, that was all.

Now, his hand was shaking, and he wished he'd never done this before.

Except no, he _hadn't_ , because, as his hand traveled higher, he realised that Hermione wasn't wearing a bra. His shirt bunched underneath her breasts as he moved his hand higher, and he had to stop to tug it back down. He wouldn't have bothered, except he wanted to feel her properly, which was ironic considering the achingly slow pace he was going, mixed with the lingering possibility that he wouldn't actually be able to do it.

But then… she let out a high-pitched, breathy sort of moan in anticipation… frustration? And he closed his eyes, moving his hand by feel alone. His fingers finally molded over her right breast and she gasped, pressing herself hard up into his palm.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he breathed against her nose.

To say he'd never felt anything so incredible would be a laughable understatement. She was so soft, and his hand felt perfectly shaped to cover her. There was such a thin layer between her skin and his hand that it was almost like his shirt, which was draped loosely over her small frame, was only there to tease him. He brushed his thumb across the peak and could literally feel her nipple instantly hardening.

" _Ron_ ," she gasped, clutching his arm and bending her right knee up. He overlapped her straight, left leg with his, partially pinning her down as he skipped his open mouth off her nose and across her cheek, toward her jaw.

"God, you feel-" He cut off his own words as she arched into him again, and his fingers slid outward, then back in to cover her… "Fuck. Bloody amazing."

She reached up and loosely took hold of his wrist, and he paused, unsure if she wanted him to stop. But when he lifted his head and found her eyes with his own, he could see clearly how wrong that assumption was. Discovering a buried bit of bravery, he thumbed over her nipple again, shivering at the squeaky sound she made, and he brought his index finger up to join his thumb, pinching lightly.

She moaned a surprised exhale, and he breathed unevenly through parted lips. He rubbed his fingertips a few times across her, watching with an unblinking gaze as she writhed slightly under him, grasping his wrist tighter and almost crying with pleasure. It occurred to him quite suddenly what he wanted to do next, and he couldn't shake it. Sod it. If she wanted him to stop, she'd let him know.

He removed his hand to press his fist into the mattress on her opposite side, propelling his body down until his face was level with her chest… and then, he dropped his mouth to her left nipple, biting gently through the fabric of his shirt.

His heart must have stopped, he reckoned, because, for a second, he was utterly shocked by what he had done, and he was no longer breathing.

" _Ohmygod…_ " she slurred, in a strangled whisper.

She was shaking, but her hand was suddenly in his hair, half holding him in place. Nothing he'd ever done before had _ever_ been like this. He'd passed what he'd done with Lavender, anyway, but it wasn't just that. Hermione made him feel things that no one else ever had, and he sincerely doubted it was possible that anyone else ever could.

Suddenly remembering that he was actually in the middle of doing something fucking _important_ , he attached his mouth to her again and sucked through the thin fabric of his shirt, listening to the incredible sounds she was making, over the pounding of his heart. She leaned just slightly to the side, into him, and he regained his balance by digging his right elbow into the mattress, enabling him to lift his left hand back to her chest again, covering her right breast and feeling her body stretch out underneath him.

He didn't think he was doing anything all that skilled, considering his complete lack of experience, but if her reactions were any indication, he was doing something incredibly right. He was suddenly filled with an intense urge to rip off the shirt she was wearing, but that seemed like crossing a fucking ocean compared to the speed they'd been moving til now. He was also quite confident that he might be literally incapable of regaining any semblance of control if he was suddenly presented with her completely naked upper body.

And _that_ was the last thought he had before he dragged his mouth off of her, slid his hand down to her stomach, and panted against her side, squeezing his eyes closed. He just needed a moment, a short break, he thought, but-

"Your turn," she said in a choked sort of whisper, nudging him until he rolled slightly off of her, then pushing him the rest of the way to his back.

He blinked at her as she hovered over him, and her eyes flicked down to his naked chest.

"... _what_?!"

* * *

Her body felt like it might have been on fire, and now he was staring up at her, a bit shocked, a bit drunk with desire. She almost couldn't believe he'd touched her the way he had, but she was still too dazed with lust to feel more than a distant tinge of embarrassment. Her knickers were soaked, and she was seriously on the verge of going too far. She'd wanted him, many times before, but this was different. This was _urgent_. She knew they had to stop before it went much further… not because a single part of her wanted to stop, but because they were on the run, living in a tent, and she couldn't _kiss_ him due to her own bloody stupid rules. But, she'd wanted to touch him since the moment they'd climbed into her bed, and now he was right _there_ , half-naked, and he'd had his hands and his _mouth_ on her in a way she'd never imagined she'd ever let anyone else in the world ever do aside from him.

"Close your eyes."

He did as instructed, breathing erratically through his mouth.

"Hermione, you don't-" he started, but she sat on her knees at his side and spread her hands across his stomach, swallowing thickly as she watched his brow crease and his eyes roll behind closed lids.

"Just… just stop me if you want me to-" she said, unable to fully complete a rational thought as his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip.

She spread her fingers over his stomach, smoothing her hands up his torso, over his ribs, around his sides and back in… Shoving her nerves down as she recalled the way it had felt when he'd touched _her_ like this, she swiped her fingertips over his nipples, and he sighed out a combination of a half-formed swear and a strangled groan. Urged on by his reaction, she hooked her right leg over his, so she was partially sitting on his thigh, hovering over him, and she moved her hands again.

He sucked in a breath through his nose, and she watched his Adam's apple move as he swallowed. Feeling braver still, she stretched out and almost lay down completely flat on top of his right side, her right leg still bent down between his, and she lowered her face to his skin, cheeks burning as she dragged her open mouth up from his ribs to his nipple… and bit him.

He clasped a hand in her hair and pulled rather hard, but she grinned, realising she'd had a similar reaction to him in reverse, in the past.

"No… fair…" he managed through another breathy groan. " _You_ had a shirt on."

Her heart was beating wildly as she lifted her head to look up at him, finding his eyes still tightly closed as she had asked him to do. Tensing her body in preparation, she opened her mouth to let the words tumble out.

"Want me to take it off?"

" _God…_ " he moaned, and she wasn't sure if he was reacting to her suggestion or to her fingers, which had absently brushed over his nipple again. But then he slid a hand down to her lower back, spreading his fingers and freezing her in her tracks for a moment. She could feel his arousal against her hip now, and she was both incredibly turned on by it and terrified that she was reaching the point of _sincerely_ not being able to stop.

Ignoring her own suggestion about her shirt for the moment, she lowered her mouth to him again and dragged her tongue across his skin, up his collarbone, toward his neck.

"Y'have t' _stoppp_ ," he half-growled out, chest rising with a sharp intake of breath.

"Why?" she muttered into the dip between his neck and shoulder, pinching his hardened nipple again with her right hand.

" _Ermynee_." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away, eyes popping open but not quite looking at her.

"Sorry!" she said in a sharp whisper, and his eyes snapped over to hers, melting a bit when they met.

"Nah, you don't-" He cut himself off and lowered her hand to his sternum, still holding on. "That was just… uh… _really_ good."

"Then why-"

" _Too_ good," he adorably attempted to clarify, neck colouring a deep shade of pink, and she had a vague suspicion she might understand what he was trying to imply. And really, she considered, it was quite fortunate he had stopped her, because she'd gone a bit past the point of logic…

She lowered her head to his shoulder and sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said again, quietly, but he shook his head.

"Don't."

His chest rose and fell rapidly for a few quiet moments, and she felt her heart rate returning to something resembling normal. But there was an aching longing, still loosely buried under the surface. She almost wanted to cry, but she didn't want him to think he'd done _anything_ wrong. A light patter of drizzling rain started up against the tent, and she closed her eyes.

"Was that… okay?" he asked, barely audible.

"Mmm," she nodded against his shoulder, draping her right arm across his waist.

How much longer could she hold back _anything_? And _she'd_ been the one who'd wanted to do more in the first place, thinking herself somehow capable of keeping her head on straight… though she doubted he'd minded…

Days and endless weeks could stretch in front of them, and their mission felt epically daunting, moreso with each passing day, when all she wanted was to see Harry and Ron safe, to end You-Know-Who, end the war-

She managed a smile, as his fingers tangled in her hair. They'd never set out to accomplish any _small_ task, had they?

"I…" she started, lifting her face to look up at him, but the words were stuck. He gazed at her with a smile that still held that lazily covered desire that she knew could be unearthed with merely too long a stare. "You… know what I want to say?" she whispered, trying to force all she felt out through her eyes, somehow.

He blinked, eyes darting between hers.

"Maybe," he said, nodding slightly.

She nodded back, brushed her hand across his cheek, and lowered her head to his shoulder again, drifting in darkness and wondering if she'd be able to sleep at all.


	17. Chapter 17

_**A/N:**_ _Oh man, guys. I'm in a completely different time zone right now, posting from my phone, so please forgive errors (but also let me know if you find them!) and I hope you enjoy!_

 _As always, the sexual tension continues to build. You have been forewarned._

* * *

Just past dawn, the following morning, Hermione introduced them to a pair of Muggle binoculars that she'd nicked from her dad's office and had been carrying around in her bag. If they were incredibly careful, she'd decided they could pack up camp and walk a wide circumference around Upper Flagley in order to stake out a vantage point in the hills and see if they could spot anything useful below. This plan seemed infinitely more entertaining than another day holed up reviewing books and notes, so Ron and Harry agreed and got to work packing.

They set out in a misty sort of half-rain, but it had subsided by the time they'd reached a good spot with fair visibility. So, they'd put up their wards, set up the tent again, and Hermione had led them to the edge of an overhanging rock where, if they lied flat down on their stomachs, they would be hidden and still be able to see the town clearly, far below.

Sandwiched between Harry and Ron, Hermione held the binoculars to her eyes in silence.

"See anything?" Ron asked, scooting a tiny bit closer to her so their bodies were touching along his left side.

"A couple of people are walking down the main road," she said, lightly clearing her throat.

"Woah. You can see that far?"

"Have a look."

She lowered the binoculars from her face and handed them to Ron. He blinked and adjusted to the lenses, eyes widening. He could clearly see a row of storefronts, beyond which was a church and courtyard, and further to the left were several lanes that broke off toward cottages and fields.

"This is mad. Have you looked through these buggers before, Harry?"

"Yeah. Dudley had some, I think," Harry answered. "Not that he'd ever let me use anything of his until it was trash to him…"

Ron reached across Hermione's back to hand Harry the binoculars, and he pressed them to his eyes.

"I think I'll start a fire behind the wards," Hermione suggested, scooting back from the ledge. "Let me know if you see anything interesting."

"Yeah, alright," Harry said, as she disappeared through a sparse row of bushes.

For the next few minutes, they lay there in silence, Harry slowly scanning the town with the binoculars and Ron attempting to see something by squinting at anything that looked like it could be moving. Eventually, Harry handed the binoculars back to Ron and shifted around to get more comfortable.

"Have you told her about the locket?"

The question was so surprising that Ron almost dropped the binoculars. Clearing his throat; he lowered them full but continued to stare forward.

"Not exactly," he answered, vaguely.

"I'm not asking to make you talk about it," Harry clarified, and Ron glanced over at him. "Just thought I should know what she knew so I wouldn't say something by mistake. Not that I'd have a reason to explain…"

"Yeah, I get it." Ron cleared his throat and looked through the binoculars again, watching as a woman with a young child exited a shop and headed across the road to a cafe. "I've told her a bit more than I said the night I came back, but… yeah, I didn't go into a lot of detail."

The town fell absolutely still again, save a slight breeze that brushed through a row of pine trees.

"I'm not keeping it secret or anything," Ron added. "Just haven't… dunno. I haven't worked out how to explain…"

He realised this might be ironic, considering he'd recently told her exactly what he'd smelled in bloody Amortentia, so what was he really waiting for? He reckoned it might have something to do with recognising the absurdity of admitting he'd actually thought she might fancy Harry… If the Viktor Krum incidences of their past were any indication, she might really think he'd lost his mind if he shared the full scope of his paranoid jealousies…

He should probably rip off the plaster and tell her the whole story soon, but it also felt odd to just bring it up out of nowhere.

"You know she'll just tell you what I already have, right?" Harry said, after a while.

"Yeah…"

Ron lowered the binoculars again, not realising how his short reply could be read as unsure until Harry spoke again.

"You can't still be worried-"

"No, of course not." He shifted a bit on his stomach and ran a hand through his hair, and Harry reached for the binoculars.

"Good," he said, pressing them to his eyes.

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon, they switched off looking out over the village, but no one saw anything worth reporting. Shortly after dinner, Harry disappeared to take a shower, and Ron found Hermione sitting in the centre of her bed, folding her clothes. He sat beside her, watching as she finished the last jumper and glanced sideways at him.

"Hey."

"Hi," she smiled, and she looked at his face for a long, silent moment before dropping her gaze… and leaning over to lay her head in his lap. He thought of how he'd done the same to her, outside, a few days ago, so he reached up to run his hand through her hair as she had for him.

A moment later, she turned over until her face was toward his stomach, and he felt the pressure of her weight against his crotch far too acutely. He closed his eyes for a second, slightly dizzy.

"What should we do tomorrow?" she asked, in a sleepy sort of raspy voice. His heart did a little flip as he combed his fingers down the length of a tangle of curls.

"Dunno," he said, before clearing his throat. "This seems like a good place to stay a few days."

She nodded against his lap, closing her eyes and moving the tiniest bit closer to his stomach, and he held his breath.

"I'm really glad I caught that cold," she said, so quietly it might have been considered a whisper. It took him a second to catch up and understand her, but then he watched her lick her bottom lip, eyes still closed. Of course, this is what he'd wanted for so long that he knew he'd have done whatever it took to get here anyway, but maybe it had helped her forgive him. And now, he was well past the thought of ever sleeping alone again…

But, he returned to the present as she absently rubbed her cheek against his thigh, and this wasn't going to work much longer. They were alone, and the lanterns were dim, and her hand came up to rest on his side…

"You want a pillow?" he asked, somewhat shakily, because she really didn't need to find out how easy it was for him to start thinking of how fucking amazing her breasts had felt in his hands the night before...

He didn't wait for her reply, reaching for the pillow to his right and indicating she should lift her head for him to put it between them. Instead, she sat almost all the way up, palm pressing into the mattress across his legs, her face coming up almost level with his. She blinked, and then her lips curled into what could only be described as a shy smirk. She knew exactly what he was doing.

He closed his eyes, blushing lightly, and when he opened them again, her shy expression had turned to something else, deeply focused on his face and almost… loving.

"Just trying to be polite," he grinned, and she shook her head.

"I know, but you don't need to…"

Now that he was already holding her pillow, he dropped it to his lap. But, rather than lie back down, she bent to rest her forehead on his left shoulder, blocking her face from his view. For a few silent moments, he breathed deeply, on the point of lifting a hand to her back when she finally spoke.

"What if… when we find the next Horcrux, it does the same thing the locket did?"

He could never have expected her to ask this, much less right now, much less after his brief conversation with Harry mere hours ago about the damn locket. But, he reckoned she must be thinking, again, about how he had left. And, from the hesitant tone of her voice, he thought he had to assume she feared he'd do it again. But he'd promised, hadn't he?

"I don't think-"

But he paused to swallow, sorting through how to phrase his explanation without saying too much, both refraining from the words he'd danced around with her for a while and the ones he hadn't sorted out yet about exactly what the locket had done. But, he hoped he'd come close enough, before, for her to understand how he felt and to know the ways he had changed, at least.

"All the shit I thought before… it doesn't matter now, does it," he said, her face still hidden from view. He knew he was repeating himself, a bit, but this didn't feel like the moment for a deep conversation when Harry would be out of the shower at any moment. "It won't happen again. I can't say what the next Horcrux'll try to do, because we know it won't be easy, but it'll never make me leave again. I meant what I said-"

She lifted her head, cutting him off as she met his eyes.

"I know." She paused and sniffed, holding his gaze. "I know you won't leave."

He studied her almost sceptically, but she actually reached up a tentative hand to touch his cheek. He narrowly avoided fluttering his eyes shut as her hand feathered lightly against his face.

But then her hand was dropping away again, much too soon, landing on his knee…

"I'm afraid of what it'll do to _me_ ," she clarified, almost sounding guilty. "It made you think the things you feared were real. It's like a boggart but so much worse. I… I'm not even sure what I fear the most, anymore, because I try not to think about it…"

She sat up further, tucking her legs in and finally breaking eye contact, dropping her gaze to a spot on the bed, between them.

"But… but I know what I dream. I see my parents being tortured. And… I see you bleeding to death or being taken away from me, and I… I really can't do it."

While some of his insecurities had been rooted in years of half-truth and genuine fear for his family, the ones about her feelings for him suddenly felt petty and stupid.

"You've been having nightmares again?" he asked, wondering why he hadn't heard her or seen some sign.

"No, but you're _here_ , aren't you."

She looked back up at him, and he studied her creased forehead and knitted brows, wishing for the thousandth time that day that he could kiss her.

"Hang on," he said, realising the solution as if it had suddenly reached up and slapped him hard across the face. "We're forgetting the most important part. We know how to destroy the sodding things now. They won't have a chance to fuck with us next time."

Before she had a chance to respond, Harry had left the loo, slipping through the flap to the bedroom to toss his clothes on his bunk.

"Are you on first, Ron?" he asked, oblivious to what he'd interrupted.

"Yeah, I'm going," Ron replied.

But, as he stood, Hermione briefly squeezed his hand, and he smiled down at her.

* * *

The moment Harry relieved him for second watch, Ron went to take a shower, standing under a heavy stream of hot water for much longer than necessary, eyes closed. But, by the time he'd dressed in pyjamas and a shirt and walked through to the dark bedroom, he was filled with thoughts of the previous night once more, finding what they had done slightly hard to believe. She was currently lying on her side, back toward him, but he could still flash memories through his mind of her on her back and him lying half on top of her, hands on her chest...

He climbed into bed beside her, lying on his back but wanting to turn toward her and put his arm around her… but he also didn't want to wake her.

At least he'd _thought_ she'd been asleep… but she was suddenly sitting up, turning around, and climbing over his lap. He didn't have time to comprehend what was happening before she sat fully on his thighs and rested her hands on his chest, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips… and he couldn't breathe.

Licking her lips, she blinked very slowly, hair curling around her face and over her shoulders in chaos, frizzy tendrils spiking away from her head as if shocked with electricity.

"Hermione, what-"

"I can't stop thinking about last night."

"Shit, me too," he breathed, hardly trusting his own voice, all of a sudden.

His shaking hands reached up to hold her waist, thumbs rubbing circles over her hipbones through her thin vest, the elastic waistband of her pyjamas resting very low.

"What do you want me to do?" he whispered.

"I don't know," she shivered, sliding her hands down his chest to his stomach. He moved his own hands down from her hips to her thighs, stopping just above her knees and staring up into her dark eyes.

It was becoming very clear exactly how she was affecting him, and the pressure of her body on top of his growing erection was making his pulse beat impossibly hard, his palms going a bit sweaty.

"Can I-" she started, and he didn't understand exactly what she was asking as she pushed his shirt up the front of his body, hands covering bare skin. But, it didn't matter, because he would let her do anything she wanted, always.

She reached down to pull her vest halfway up her torso, and his eyes were glued to newly-revealed, shadowy skin. Her own eyes darted toward the half-closed flap that led through to the sitting room.

"Is Harry outside?"

"Yeah," he reassured her as he scrambled awkwardly to yank his shirt off over his head and toss it to the floor.

And then, before he could fully comprehend it, she grasped the bottom of her vest in both hands and tugged it over her head, dropping it to join his shirt. She was wearing a simple, white bra, but this was still the closest he'd ever been to seeing her half-naked, and he was finding it suddenly very difficult to swallow. Her eyes were focused down on his body, and he wasn't sure if this was simply because she was nervous… but then, very slowly, she slid her hands back up his chest to his shoulders, leaning forward as she went and flattening the front of her body to his, actually moaning as her skin met his and her face dropped to the side of his neck. He clutched her hips again, overwhelmed by her warm body on top of him, more skin in contact with his than ever before, and he quickly moved his arms to wrap around her waist and hold her tighter down.

She lifted her head until they were nose to nose, sharing the same air… and she rubbed her chest against his. He sucked in a sharp breath and flattened his hands to her skin before developing a better thought and locking his left forearm across her back. Pressing his right foot into the mattress, he flipped them over toward the canvas wall, pinning her down underneath him as she gasped. She reached up between them to hold his face in her hands, and she parted her knees, so he automatically settled between her legs.

"Fuck…" he hissed through his teeth, heat radiating strongly between her thighs, his left arm still trapped underneath her, keeping their torsos flush together, and his right hand shaking as he lifted it to push her hair back from her face.

Even in the cold night air, her temples were dotted with sweat, and his pyjamas felt suddenly very restricting. He ducked his head and lightly bit her ear, only half-conscious of what he was doing specifically as his tongue darted out to roll down the side of her neck. Her hands dropped to his back, fingertips running up and down as he dragged his mouth back up behind her ear, listening intently to her ragged breathing.

She bent her left knee up by his hip, and he immediately reached down to hold her thigh in a frantic grasp, squeezing as she moaned out his name. He froze, then resumed breathing in panting shivers as he pulled her leg up even higher. Every sensation was adding up to a near blinding feeling, and he'd never been this close to her, in this intimate of a position, for this long. Lines were blurring, and he needed to breathe, so he rolled slightly off of her, coming to rest on his left side, still holding her with a shaking hand, fingers digging into her thigh through her pyjamas.

Staring into her eyes, he didn't know what to do. She was fucking beautiful, and brilliant, and right _here_ , in bed with him… and he'd never touched anyone like this before, of course, and his heart was pounding through his ribs, and his lips felt swollen, as if they'd been snogging, which he reckoned was from the way he'd attacked her neck…

But then she rolled closer to him, rubbed her bent knee against his hip, and he was suddenly past worrying that she wouldn't want him to do what he did next.

Both of his hands slid down and grasped her arse through her pyjamas, and she gasped again, arching into him, sticking her bare skin tight to his once more and making him groan in response, the combination of her leg bent over his waist and his hands on her making him lightheaded. He pressed his forehead to hers, panting slightly, forcing himself to think before he acted this time. He was nearly too far gone to stop himself, lips centimetres apart, and all he could think, for a moment, as he tried desperately not to kiss her, was that he loved her. Fuck, he loved her more than he'd even admitted to himself… It almost felt impossible, to love someone so much.

His hands moved up just enough for him to slip his thumbs under the waistband of her pyjama trousers, and her eyes snapped shut.

" _Ronnn…_ " she groaned, with a catching breath, "...have to st-stop."

His hands flew instantly away from her.

"Oh, _God_ … don't want you to stop," she cried, confusingly, "but I think you need to…"

"Yeah," he sighed, shakily, "I know."

It was _now…_ or they could go way too far to turn back. He knew that, but it didn't make it easier. He tugged his arm out from under her, rolled to his back, and covered his face with both hands, attempting to calm down. She whimpered next to him, and he thought it may have turned to a light cry, but he was sure he couldn't see straight just yet, so he didn't move. He felt her fingers lightly touch his arm.

"It's my fault," she whispered. "I'm so sor-"

"Don't do that."

He slid his hands off his face and cracked open his eyes, staring up at her creased forehead and sad, glistening pupils.

"It's fucking torture," he said, "but I'm not complaining. At all."

"If you need to go to the loo…"

"Do you?" he teased, grinning. Apparently that was all she needed to break the tension, because she smiled back and settled in bed on her side, facing but not quite touching him, gathering her blanket up over her body.

"I have an idea."

"What?"

A fearful blush coloured her cheeks, and he felt his chest clench with unknown anticipation.

"You've got second watch, tomorrow night, haven't you?" She licked her bottom lip, nervously, and he nodded. "Maybe we could… at dawn, while Harry's still asleep… I could join you outside and…"

She stopped speaking, and he waited, but she didn't seem to be on the verge of continuing.

"Hm?"

As if waking from a daydream, she cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact.

"If you don't look, I-I could d-do what I would be doing in the loo, while you-"

She broke off, and his eyes widened. He wasn't entirely sure yet what she was saying, maybe because he was terrified to assume and be wrong, but he was getting the idea.

"Do you… want to?" she asked in the most adorably insecure voice.

He stared at her, willing her to look directly at him, which she finally did, a half-pained expression of deep embarrassment etching her features.

"It's ruddy cold outside," he managed to say, a bit lost for what else he could add when he still didn't want to guess what she meant.

"Yes, but… I don't know if I can do it with you in the loo," she managed, hands twitching a bit as she re-gathered her blanket at her chest. "And, in bed, it's just… intense."

He stared for another moment before finally raking words out through his dry throat.

"Okay. I don't follow exactly what you're asking me to do, but of course I'll do it. Just… just come find me at the end of my shift, before Harry's awake…"

"Sorry," she shivered. "I'm being so vague…"

"S'fine. Just show me, tomorrow."

She nodded and sat up again, shyly hiding her face behind a curtain of hair as he extended his arm straight across the mattress, behind her. But then she turned her back toward him as she stretched out on her opposite side, resting her cheek on his bicep. The back of her body was pressed along his left side, and he wanted to just roll toward her, sealing his bare chest to her mostly bare back, and-

"I _really_ don't want you to," he said, "but maybe you should put on a shirt, in case Harry sees…"

"Oh! You're right. Could I have yours? Or do you need it?"

"Nah, here."

She sat up just as he rolled away from her and reached over the side of the bed to grab his shirt, handing it to her before reaching back down for her vest, sitting up and tossing it to the chair at the foot of her bed. She pulled his shirt on and settled on her back until he joined her, both staring up at their canvas ceiling, shoulder to shoulder.

"Ron?" she said, breaking the silence.

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

"What for?"

He turned his head to the side to stare at her profile.

"Don't know where to start," she said, a small smile breaking her serious expression.

Though he wanted to understand what he'd done to make her think she should thank him, he was more distracted now by the fact that she'd said some things to him that he'd maybe not answered clearly. He couldn't say why it occurred to him, but he flipped to his side to fully face her and met her eyes as she turned her head with a questioning gaze.

"This'll sound bad… but I'm glad you caught that cold, too…"

Her smile spread wider until it became a full grin, and she rolled toward him, draping an arm over his waist and not breaking eye contact for such a long stretch of time that he almost forgot anyone else existed in the whole sodding world.

He couldn't be sure when his eyes had closed; when her deep, sleeping breaths had begun to warm his cheek; or when her legs had intertwined with his under their blanket; only that when he woke for a moment, sometime later, he was warm and peaceful and wrapped in blankets and sheets, holding her body in his shirt, which now smelled as much like her as it ever had him.


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N:** Happy New Year's Eve, friends! And here's your reminder that this fic is now firmly M rated :) x_

* * *

It started with a look, at breakfast, her eyes flicking down to his lips. Across the table, he extended his leg in her direction, his bare toes sliding up under her pyjamas, against her shin.

A drizzling rain broke through a monotone grey sky, and they shared the sofa through the morning, returning to piles of books and notes. His fingers skipped over hers as he reached for a sheet of parchment. She leaned over him for a quill, and her long hair brushed the top of his thigh through his jeans. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, and he had no idea how he was expected to make it through til dawn the following morning.

He almost didn't want to get up to eat, but, after a while, his stomach gave a rumbling groan, and he figured he might as well attempt to scrape together lunch so he'd have a better chance of focusing on the dead boring textbook that was currently open across his lap. He stretched, caught her eyes on him, and cleared his throat.

"Hungry?"

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Can't be. We hardly ate breakfast, and that was hours ago."

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.

"It's hard to work up an appetite when all we're eating is stale crisps and whatever we can forage," she replied dully.

"We've still got a few eggs and some cheese and half a loaf of bread from the market, I think, and those apples you liked-"

"You go ahead," she sniffed, dismissing him by returning to her work.

Moments ago, he'd felt pleasantly distracted by her presence, sensing that she felt the same way about him. But, now… He was clueless as to what had prompted her change in mood, only that she seemed resigned and tense, all of a sudden. He also knew how rubbish he was at talking through these situations, only… maybe he'd had a bit more successful practice recently. He'd somehow worked his way back from being a prat who had returned after abandoning them to someone who slept in her bed every single night… not that he'd ever be able to put into words how the hell that had happened anyway.

He wasn't going to question his luck again. Instead, he hid in the kitchen for longer than was necessary, clearing away thoughts that couldn't possibly be useful. Honestly, it was hard to maintain consistent desperation for their mission, day after day after sodding day. But, at least he could go on slowly slogging away at her notes, the seemingly endless stack of texts she'd brought along, the maps, the wireless…

The wireless. He'd not checked for Potterwatch the last few nights, and it suddenly seemed like an incredible oversight. He decided he'd try that night for sure, and it gave him something to look forward to doing for now. If he could just get through and hear something - _anything_ \- just one small thing to make them feel like they were moving at all, in any direction…

He finally returned to the sofa with a plate full of a decent attempt at scrambled eggs, a large chunk of bread, and two apples, hoping to convince Hermione to eat one of them, at least. He sat next to her, a bit farther away than he had been before, watching cautiously as her eyebrows furrowed and she reached sharply for a fresh sheet of parchment. He opened his mouth once, ready to ask what she was working on, but he immediately thought better of it as she tutted and fiercely turned the page of the nearest book, almost ripping it.

He cleared his throat lightly instead and tucked into his lunch.

Three bites later, he caught her glancing toward him, then swiftly looking away. He paused, watching the lines across her forehead deepen, her lips twitch with anxiety as she scribbled out a furious notation on her parchment. Yet another book, which she had propped up on the arm of the sofa to her right, drew her attention, and she turned to run the tip of her index finger along a passage of tiny letters beneath a moving, black and white photograph.

Ron shifted around until he was sitting cross-legged, facing her, abandoning his plate atop his lap. She sniffed and glanced over at him again, and he forcefully ignored any part of him that still cared about being caught openly staring at her. Her eyes flicked down to his plate before they darted away again to an extremely thick book lying on the floor in front of her, and she bent forward to pick it up, spreading it open across her thighs with a heavy thud.

The words 'you should take a break' formed in his mouth, but he stamped them back down. She reached up to tuck a thick coil of hair behind her ear, and he ditched his original plan to simply stare at her until she spoke to him, reaching for the bread on his plate instead-

But she got there first. Her hand shot out, picked it up, and tore off a large, angry bite. His own hand hovered in the air for a moment, suddenly taskless, and he tried not to smile, which promptly failed. The corner of his mouth twitched up as she dropped the bread to his plate again, hardly looking over at him before dipping her quill in her inkwell and continuing her work, hair falling forward, hiding her face from him.

"You're welcome," he teased, but she ignored him, biting the end of her quill, deep in thought.

Her lips curled around the smooth, ivory tip, and his own lips parted unconsciously, watching her much too closely. She sucked gently before removing it from her mouth and returning to her notes, and a small part of him was just starting to wonder if she knew what she had done-

"Ron!" Harry called, from out of sight, near the tent entrance, where he had been washing his clothes for at least the last half hour.

"What?" Ron shouted back, hoping his voice held less irritation at the interruption than he thought it might have.

"I think there's a burdock plant out here. Didn't Hermione say we could eat the roots?"

Ron's immediate thought was to cheekily inquire as to why Harry wouldn't just ask Hermione about it directly, considering Harry had to know she was sitting right there, too. But Ron had been doing a much better job lately at stopping himself from snapping something back that he'd regret later.

"If he's found one, we can eat it, yes," Hermione answered softly, eyes on Ron.

"Yeah, she says we can," Ron called back to Harry.

A long silence followed, but Hermione didn't return to her books. Her tired eyes remained fixed on Ron's, and though his recent attempts to be helpful had not produced any results, he thought he could risk it again. He wordlessly offered her his plate and raised an optimistic brow.

She gave him a small smile, picking up his fork and stabbing a bite of eggs.

"These are good," she noted softly as she chewed.

"I didn't do anything, really. Thank the chickens," he smiled back.

"I'm nearly done with the washing," came Harry's voice again. "Could you bring a basket out here? We should dig up these roots."

"Yeah, alright," Ron answered, resigned. "But he's gonna wait til we're done eating," he added under his breath, to Hermione, as she scooped up a second bite of eggs, laughing lightly.

She handed his fork back to him and sighed.

"I'm stealing all your food."

"Nah, made extra cause I reckoned you'd change your mind."

She playfully rolled her eyes at him, but then her expression fell serious again.

"He's so frustrated."

"Yeah… well, maybe if we were all frustrated about the same thing, we'd be making some progress…"

She took another bite of his bread and shoved her tangled hair over her shoulder.

"We could go back to Wales, but what's the point? I can't imagine where the cup is hidden, Ron. I've been searching all day. Once You-Know-Who stole it from Hepzibah, there's no telling where he'd have taken it. The locket was originally hidden in a bloody cave in the middle of the sea. We could be searching for the cup for _years…_ "

He felt slightly relieved to know what she'd been upset about before, but a lump had formed in his throat at the word 'years'... for several reasons.

"So… let's go for another one, first," he suggested, weakly. "We know the snake's got to be-"

"But we've been _through_ this," she argued. "That snake's too close to You-Know-Who. Even if we could get to it, he'll know right away what we're up to. We'd be out of time to find the other Horcruxes - he'd be after us then for sure."

"Yeah. You're right," he said slowly. "But it can't take _years_."

"Why not?" Her eyes met his daringly, and he licked his lips, sensing her question was not entirely genuine, meant primarily to make him say it out loud. It was a selfish reason, but it was clearly on both of their minds.

"You know why not," he said, not looking away from her. "But, obviously… that's not the only reason…"

They heard Harry rustling around outside, and Ron was reminded that he needed to help him.

"Reckon I should go… Don't worry about the cup right now. We'll find another way."

"How?" she asked, voice small and almost desperate.

"Dunno," he sighed as he handed her his half-eaten plate of food and stood, "but I'll try again tonight for Potterwatch. Maybe we'll get lucky and hear some news."

He turned to go in search of a basket to collect the roots, but just as he was about to pass through to the kitchen, she called out to him.

"Please be careful, and don't go too far."

* * *

They'd been attempting to use magic, but the damn burdocks were bloody stubborn, so they had eventually resorted to physically digging through snow and frozen dirt for nearly an hour, extracting the thin roots of several wilted plants. Ron was fairly pleased with the fact that Harry was talking to him about things unrelated to the Hallows or the Horcruxes, and they'd been reminiscing about playing Quidditch for Gryffindor for a good quarter of an hour before the topic of their current location finally came up.

"It's not a bad spot, up here," Harry was saying, "but we can't just wait around on top of a hill for something to happen."

"Yeah, reckon we're safe enough, but there doesn't seem to be much going on."

They really hadn't gone far at all from the tent - they had remained in sight of the entrance - and they spotted Hermione emerging and heading briskly toward them.

"It's bloody boring here, really," Harry added, and Ron nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

"Those look alright," Hermione commented, as she approached them.

"Enough to eat for a couple more days, yeah?" Ron suggested, holding up the half-filled basket with filthy hands.

"Should do," she answered, crossing her arms over her chest as a gust of cold wind blew by. "Do we stay here that long or move on?"

"We were just talking about that," Ron said, as he returned to the roots and resumed his digging.

"I'm still stuck on the cup," Hermione continued, glancing at Harry, who had so far been ignoring her, "but let's go through the rest again."

Ron tried to catch her eyes with a wary stare, honestly wishing he could make her stop if just to maintain the peace with Harry for a few more minutes, but she seemed to be intentionally ignoring him.

"The snake," she rattled off, "something from Raven-"

"How about we _do_ go through it again then." Harry's eyes flashed over to Hermione's, and he huffed dramatically. "The cloak, the stone, the wand."

"Harry, I _know_ ," she bit back, "but why can't we just try and stick together?!" Ron could see her clearly shivering now in the cold as she implored Harry so desperately. " _Dumbledore_ told us to find the Horcruxes, he said that was the way to stop You-Know-Who, and I won't back down from that. Ron and I-"

"Why can't you see it, Hermione?" Harry snapped, completely abandoning his work to glare up at her. "If it's not spelled out in a book, carefully researched and proven, then it's rubbish, is it?"

"Harry, stop being an arse!" Ron's voice boomed unexpectedly angry and frustrated between them, and Hermione caught his narrowed eyes for a second. Somehow, Harry had crossed a line, one he often danced too close to recently. It was alright to disagree, but apparently Ron had no intention of letting Harry insult her again.

"It's fine, Ron," Hermione said faintly, taking a small step backward. She vaguely gestured toward the basket of roots. "I'll go back and figure out how to cook these, and then-"

"No, it's _not_ fine!" Ron cut over her, glaring at Harry now. "I've had enough of this. Sod nearly freezing to death in the middle of bloody nowhere, sod not knowing what the hell's happening, but Hermione gave up her parents' bloody _memories_ and came trudging out here with us because of something that sounds absolutely barking. Look, I'm not saying I think you're dead wrong about this Hallows shite-"

"Ron!" Hermione shouted sternly, suddenly turning her cold face toward him again. He briefly winced but kept going.

"-but we're going barmy fighting over it. You both have to admit the bloody _Horcrux_ story sounded dodgy, too, until we'd got one. But none of this matters if we can't make any progress. Hermione's working hard enough, reading the same books over and over, trying to figure this out… and blimey, she's done illegal shit that could've got her sent to bloody Azkaban! Don't we trust each other after seven bloody years? Harry, the very least you could do is listen to her-"

"I _have_ been listening!" Harry countered. "Over and over! It's all the pair of you talk about, and-"

But he was abruptly cut off by the startling sounds of laughter.

Harry, Ron and Hermione glanced between each other, eyes wide. But two distinct voices could definitely be heard, moving closer.

"Shit! Get back to the tent!" Ron hissed.

Hermione snatched up the basket of roots and turned without hesitation, bolting away as Ron grabbed Harry's arm and they scrambled to their feet to follow her, sprinting toward the tent entrance. Hermione ducked through the flap, followed closely by Harry and Ron, but Ron immediately peeked back out, feeling Hermione's hand close hard around his arm.

"Ron!" she whispered urgently.

"I see them," he whispered back, and he felt Harry lean against his back to try and get a look over his shoulder.

"What are they doing?" Hermione asked, unable to see at all.

"Bloody hell, I think they're _camping_!"

"Muggles?" Harry suggested, and Ron shrugged.

"Must be, yeah?"

"What do we do?!" Hermione's voice had risen an octave at least, and when Ron turned back to glance at her, she was twisting her jumper sleeves in her fingers.

"We should move," Harry suggested, and Ron nodded his agreement.

"We'll have to do it under the cloak again," Hermione said, already rushing to the sofa to start packing her books and notes in her beaded bag.

* * *

They'd managed it. Hadn't been spotted, as far as they knew, and the tent was back up, under thick tree cover, dark gray clouds and the ominous rumble of thunder moving closer. They'd scraped together scraps for dinner, and silence engulfed them, suffocating, like a heavy fog. If only someone would speak, break the band of tension that stretched to fill every space.

Ron winced as he glanced at the wireless, wanting to try for Potterwatch soon but suspecting the incessant hiss and whir of static would further compound the sour mood between the three of them. Absurd thoughts crossed his mind like what if he could distract them with something completely insignificant… a trivial game of exploding snap? He narrowly avoided laughing out loud at the thought. But any hint of levity faded back quickly when he tried and failed to catch Hermione's gaze. He could tell she'd stopped reading the book in her lap but was staring down at it stubbornly anyway.

He had to give it up and leave the room or he'd say something stupid, without thinking. Resigned, he dragged himself off the sofa and made his way to their bunks. He'd amassed quite a mess of crumpled clothes on top of his unused bed again, so he began half-heartedly folding and sorting them, shoving the ones he deemed clean enough into his rucksack. The thought of a shower crossed his mind, if only for something to do, and he didn't even hear her soft footfalls behind him, unaware she was there until she spoke.

"I thought we agreed," Hermione said to his back, in an eerily tight voice.

He considered asking her to clarify, but he wasn't stupid and there wasn't any point dragging it out. He knew exactly what she meant, recalled the moment she'd snapped at him outside, before they'd rushed away.

He turned to face her. Her arms were crossed stiffly over her chest and her face was set in a stern expression that wavered with sadness.

"Yeah, we _do_ agree," he started, surprised by how hoarse his voice was.

"Are you lying to both of us, then?" she bit back, and he held his breath for a second before shoving his hands awkwardly into his pockets.

"Of course I'm not bloody lying to you…" He knew she was being just a bit irrational and lashing out, but it stung anyway. "You know I'm not," he added, as much to assure himself as to present it to her.

"But you _told_ me we should focus on the Horcruxes, and now-"

"Hey," he interrupted, wincing at how loud her voice had gotten. "C'mere."

Surprisingly, she remained silent and followed to sit on the edge of her bed with him.

"Don't want Harry to hear us fighting," he clarified at a whisper, and her eyes widened briefly, arms dropping from across her chest so her hands could frustratedly clench her bed sheets.

"We're not fighting!" she hissed back.

"No?" he countered with pointed scepticism.

"You gave Harry room to think he was right to abandon us for the Hallows, and we are _never_ going to win unless we stick together!" she whispered harshly, in lieu of answering him.

"No, we're not," he agreed, "which is why I said that to him, innit."

"What?"

"Are you forgetting I also told him to leave it? I felt fucking isolated when the Horcrux was round my neck, didn't I. And Harry feels that way now. Maybe it's You-Know-Who inside his head or maybe he's just hungry and cold and pissed off."

When she didn't respond, he sighed, feeling like he'd derailed a bit from his original point and really just wanting a hot shower and for his - oh, God, he couldn't start thinking the word girlfriend right then, could he? - to stop being hacked off at him. Now that he knew how it felt to be with her in whatever version of together they were, he hated _any_ distance between them far more than he had before. But this was, in a way, what they did. It was oddly comfortable in one respect, he reckoned. Though it was endlessly _more_ comfortable to have his hand up the back of her shirt while they slept in her tiny camp bed together…

He could have said more, but he kept waiting instead, hoping she'd speak first. Her eyes were glassy in the glow from a single lantern atop the wooden chair at the foot of her bed, but she was staring forward intently. Finally, she licked her chapped lips and glanced left to look him in the eyes.

"I hated every second you were gone," she whispered, and there was no way Harry could hear her then. "I missed you so much. Let's not…" She paused to sniff. "Let's not do that again, while you're actually here."

He automatically glanced toward his now cleared off camp bed, recalling their misunderstanding a while back when he'd slept there for a night.

"I was just cleaning up, y'know. Been using my bed as a laundry basket, apparently. Still sleeping in your bed unless you chuck me out." Her lips twitched as he attempted a half-grin.

"I didn't think _that_ again," she smiled.

"Good."

"And… I'm never chucking you out," she added, almost inaudibly, as she shifted closer to him, her thigh pressing to his and her face so close… Bloody hell, kissing her at this point would feel like second nature, even though they'd never sodding done it.

He swallowed and tapped his forehead softly to hers before sharply turning away.

"Gonna shower now," he muttered, muting another grin as he realised what she might think he was doing in there. And, honestly, she wouldn't be wrong…

"Alright," she said breathlessly, and he stood quickly, escaping the room without looking back.

* * *

His hand ran down his bare chest and stomach, through rivers of warm water and thick suds of Hermione's spicy soap that she'd carelessly left on the edge of the tub. Steam rose from near scalding water, drawing her familiar scent into his nostrils and making him feel almost lightheaded.

His hand sank lower, fingers wrapping tight as he closed his eyes.

What would it feel like for her to touch him this way? Fuck, he was so close to it, somehow, he could almost make it real. So real inside his head. More than that, he wanted to touch _her_. He wanted to make her feel how he felt just then.

His body shook with desire. He breathed raggedly through his mouth as he tried to stop. He didn't _want_ to stop, but if he held back, if he waited, and if she joined him outside at dawn as she'd said the night before… No. Bloody hell, it couldn't go that far. He'd never be able to stop. Never. He'd shag her every night and not give a shit if Harry caught them.

Of course he'd give a shit.

He opened his eyes and slowed his breathing, reaching up to press both palms to the chipped tile wall.

Oh God, he loved her. His eyes burned with the intensity of it.

He could so easily recall the feeling of her under him; he could feel his own hands on her chest in sharp memory.

"Ron, are you alright?" she called out suddenly in a subtly shaky voice.

"Yeah," he shouted gruffly back before clearing his throat. "Almost done." His eyes snapped immediately shut again at the double meaning to his words, and his face seemed to light on fire. He leaned his burning forehead against the tile and lowered his right hand again, giving up.

"I'm going outside for watch soon," she said, and he hadn't realised she was still there as he stroked himself, the pounding of the water hopefully muffling the low groan that slipped from the back of his throat at the sound of her voice just then. "I'll wait for you."

He nodded incoherently - of course she couldn't see him.

It took mere seconds then to finish, a wave of near-violent pleasure washing over him and almost causing his knees to buckle.

He stood for ten more solids minutes under cold, rushing water before, at last, he could leave.

* * *

Fully dressed and half-dry, he rounded the edge of the bedroom canvas flap and nearly ran into her where she stood, clothed in multiple jumpers and her cloak, gloves and a scarf. She grasped his hand firmly, looked up into his eyes in the dark.

"I'll miss you tonight," she said in a low, small voice that trembled with nervous admission. Their opposing shifts meant they would not be able to sleep together. He hated these nights, but it made his heart flip to be reminded that she hated them, too.

He tugged her immediately against him, looping his free arm around her shoulders and inhaling the lovely scent of her frizzy hair.

"Me too," he mumbled to the top of her head. She gripped the back of his shirt and took far too long to let go… but not nearly long enough.

With one last look into his eyes, she brushed past him and made her way outside.

* * *

Thunder had been rumbling once again in the distance for an hour or more toward the end of his shift, but he remained fortunate that the rain hadn't reached them yet. He absently twirled his wand between his long fingers, listening to the rustling sounds of the wind through the barren trees around them.

He'd tried and failed for Potterwatch after Hermione had gone out for first watch. And if he dwelled on it too long, it sank in much too deep just how lost they were. He couldn't let that happen, couldn't wallow in frustration as he had done before.

The world was vast and unknown before them. And it felt, as often as he'd let it, like they could be the only ones left alive, sometimes. It was a morbid, lonely thought. And it was rubbish, of course. But he could hardly recall anymore how it had felt to draw the curtains on his Hogwarts bed without a care for anything other than Quidditch and perhaps the gnawing, uncomfortable sensation of slowly realising you'd fallen hard for your best friend.

He placed his wand on his thigh and rubbed his hands together for warmth, and the sound of someone emerging from the tent behind him caught his attention. He turned to watch Harry sleepily approach and sit beside him.

They sat there together for some time, in silence, and though it wasn't perfect, it was enough. They'd fought hard through the years, and Harry was his _brother_. They'd die for each other or die together.

Ron picked up his wand again and rested his wrist on his knee, content in their vigil. A streak of pink morning light carved itself through a gap in dark gray cloud cover, and thunder rumbled farther away this time. Perhaps the storm had missed them altogether, for once.

A rustle of canvas behind them signified Hermione emerging to join them, and Ron cast her a sleepy smile over his shoulder… before colourfully swearing inside his head at the sight of her wearing a bloody pleated skirt for no reason... none except-

Fuck.

Her eyes flashed to the back of Harry's head long enough for Ron to know what she was thinking. He gave her a withering, disappointed grimace, and she bit her lip, shrugging as she moved to sit on Ron's left.

For several heart hammering seconds, they remained huddled at the tent entrance, and he kept feeling her shivering beside him, whether from the cold or _something else_ he wasn't sure. Likely both, he thought, but he reckoned he could really only help with one just then. He wrapped an arm round her shoulders and hugged her closer, forcing his regret at their miserable timing to lean more toward melancholy compromise, her head falling heavy on his shoulder as the new day faded to life.


	19. Chapter 19

Ron's eyes blurred out of focus as he stared down at a long sheet of tedious parchment full of dates and places. They'd decided to stay put for a few days, particularly when Hermione had discovered a generous patch of mushrooms within several strides of a berry bush. They'd gone farther south, and it had paid off, the warmer weather lending itself to early, wild crops.

Now mulling over what they might pull together for supper, Ron decided his excuse was good enough to abandon his monotonous studying and stretch his legs.

"Where's that basket you used this morning for the mushrooms?" he yawned toward Harry. "Reckon I'll go back for more of those berries Hermione said we could eat, before it gets dark."

"It's under the sink," Harry answered from his spot at the opposite end of the sofa. "Want company?"

"Nah. You should stay, so Hermione won't worry when she comes out of the shower."

"Yeah. Right," Harry said, resigned. They were all going mental cooped up there. At least the discovery of more food to forage was offering the tiniest bit of variety in outdoor chores.

"Won't be long," Ron added as he stood to retrieve the basket from the kitchen.

* * *

Something about a repetitive physical motion was a useful change in pace to clear one's mind. With his basket nearly half full of deep blue berries, Ron had managed to leave most of his apprehensive thoughts behind about their lack of progress-

Until a twig snapped, and he dropped the basket to the ground, whirling around with his wand out in half a second's time.

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, taking a short step back, eyes wide.

"Bloody hell! Sorry!"

He lowered his wand shakily, and they stared at each other for a heart pounding second.

"Well," she panted, chest heaving _distractingly_ , "you'll make a fantastic Auror, if you still want to do it."

He laughed, tucked his wand into his back pocket, and shoved a hand through his shaggy hair.

"Sorry I startled you," she added, glancing down at the spilled basket of berries between them. "Harry told me where you were, but I couldn't see you from the tent."

"Yeah. Blimey," he sighed, heart rate still elevated from her surprise arrival. "Haven't been out here long."

"Do you need help?"

Her chest was still moving somewhat dramatically, he couldn't help but notice. He hesitated in his response as she took a small step forward, and he wasn't entirely sure they were talking about the supper he was picking…

She moved again. Another step, eyes on his face, her shoes crushing berries to juice in the icy grass.

He swallowed and automatically took his own step to lessen the space between them, his large trainers thoroughly smashing his former harvest. Her lips parted. They were so close by then that he could almost feel her breath on his collarbone, if it wasn't for the layered jumpers.

She inhaled as if to speak, but no words came out. Her hands lifted to his chest, so close… closer, until her palms finally, ever so lightly, rested against him. He released a shakily held breath and grasped her waist, shocking her eyes wide; a tiny, airy moan wafted between her still parted lips, and his fringe fell choppily forward as he ducked his head toward hers.

Her body sank an inch, as if her legs had briefly stopped working, so he turned them toward the large, smooth tree to his right, their feet knocking together as she stumbled backward against it. He knew, immediately - and he knew that she knew as well - that this was too close, her panting mouth too tempting.

He quickly turned her around, the front of her body against the tree then instead, careful not to crush her too hard as he pressed his chest to her back, but she gasped in a way that suggested she wasn't at all uncomfortable. He felt so tall behind her, her arse just short of level with his crotch but the back of her head resting against his sternum.

He vividly recalled wanking outside by a tree, eerily similar in size to this one, more than a week ago now, after-

"Remember that morning you woke up, after that bloody dream," he said in a surprisingly husky voice, "and I ran outside-"

"It was you," she cut in breathlessly.

"What?"

"I _was_ dreaming about you, and I n-never told you for sure. But of course I was. It's always you."

"Fuck." He swept back her hair, lowered his mouth to the side of her neck, and closed his eyes.

She gasped and arched her back and reached up to wrap her hand around his neck, moaning very clearly with pleasure as his teeth lightly sank into her flesh. While his right hand held her hair back, his left slid forward, around her waist, and though he knew he _could_ do this, he felt his fingers trembling as they dipped under jumpers and vest to touch the warm skin over her hipbone.

She pressed her arse against him to get closer, and his eyes clenched tighter shut, a light breeze rustling the bare tree limbs overhead, the heat from her body making him dizzy. He ached to touch her so much more, to hold her face in his hands and snog her, to feel her skin on his, everywhere. His hand froze on her, fingertips barely underneath the waistband of her jeans, feeling the soft cotton of her knickers.

* * *

Vivid visions of ripping each other's clothes off and shagging on the ground, atop brittle leaves and crushed berries, flashed through her mind, making it hard for her to breathe. She wanted him so much more than she was supposed to, out here.

Would it be any easier for _him_ to stop, thinking they _couldn't_ , while she suffered with knowing they actually-

A drizzle of rain splashed down suddenly, intensifying as he lifted his mouth from her skin and breathed hotly by her ear. Her hand slid limply down from the back of his neck, and he let go of her immediately, but she _really_ didn't want him to. The rain was soaking them through, and she was frozen, but he was so enticingly warm behind her. She used the bit of space now between them to turn around and tug his jumpers in a tight fist, his right forearm bracing on the tree over her shoulder as she firmly gripped him around the waist and held him, cheek on his chest and shivering.

 _Just stay here_ , she thought, _hidden and alone_.

His left hand weaved into her hair at the back of her head, and she could feel his breath on her temple, his body lightly shaking… and she suddenly realised he was laughing.

She lifted her head from his chest, and he grinned down at her, fringe soaked and dripping into his eyes, and she couldn't hold back the laughter that bubbled through her, too.

Awareness of how cold she suddenly was hit her full force, and she shivered violently as she let go of him, still laughing, bending down for the fallen basket.

"Hang on," Ron grinned, snatching the basket from her hand as she stood straight again. "Gotta refill this or Harry'll think we've gone mad."

"Or… he'll think we've been out here snogging…" she suggested, pressing her lips together as his eyebrows shot up, and he shook with laughter again to match hers.

"Wrong on both counts," he pointed out cheekily, forcefully ripping off a whole branch of the berry bunch and shrugging. She shook her head in mock disapproval but smiled as she tugged his arm to rush back inside.

* * *

Once warmly dressed in dry clothes, they'd managed a few moments of lightness with Harry over preparing an unusual dinner of mashed berries on toast, and late evening found the three of them sitting on the floor by flickering lantern light, not a bloody book in sight.

"S'not bad," Ron said, leaning back on his palms, long legs stretched out along the rug in front of him. "Reckon I'd come back here on holiday, stay closer to the shore."

"It's a bit swampy though, isn't it?" Hermione countered, moving from the floor to sit on the sofa with her legs tucked up underneath her. "There'll be midges everywhere, when it gets warmer out."

Ron glanced up to meet her gaze with a raised brow, thinking how her practicality often translated to negativity. Her shrug and vague eye roll indicated she'd gotten the message. Damn, he loved how she could read his mind.

"Harry'll come with me then," he said, to a chuckle from his left. He smiled and stretched out on his back, closing his eyes, hands behind his head.

"Not sure I'll spend another night in a tent for the rest of my life after this," Harry admitted, and Ron's smile twitched, eyes still closed.

"Harry agrees with _me_ then," he heard Hermione say lightly, almost as if she was afraid to set him off, but Harry laughed.

"Sure do," he said through an obvious yawn. "Ron, you're on your own, mate."

"Oi, some best friends you lot are."

Hermione's toes jabbed him lightly under the arm and he flinched, opening his eyes to look up at her as Harry stood and stretched.

"Thinking I'll have a shower now, if no one objects."

"You go on, Harry," Hermione said softly, and Ron failed to force his gaze from flicking down to her lips.

Harry made a vague grunt of affirmation before clearing off, and Hermione slid from the sofa to the floor by Ron's right, just as the loo flap shut.

"I _thought_ you were ticklish," she said, lightly flushed.

"What?" But she startled him by climbing over his body, straddling his hips, and attacking him under both arms with her fingers. "Oh God, stop!" he laughed as his hands shot down from behind his head, and he squirmed underneath her in an effort to escape.

She shook with (nerves?) and amusement as she tried to force his arms away again, but he was too strong, so she gave up and went for his stomach before he knew what she was doing. Truthfully, he could have thrown her off him any time, but he didn't want to accidentally hurt her… and he didn't particularly _want_ her off of him…

"Hermione!" he shouted, clenching his muscles from her onslaught and shifting his hips… until a brilliant idea struck him almost unconsciously, and he grasped her upper arms firmly, yanking her towards his chest. She gasped and their noses nearly collided.

"You know I'll get you back, don't you," he panted, voice low and rough and lips so close to hers. Her chest heaved against his, and she didn't respond until he had let go of her arms and reached down to attack her sides.

"Ron!" she shrieked, and he almost winced, wondering what Harry could hear and what he might think they were doing out there… And _that_ particular thought rushed a significant flush up his neck and cheeks as Hermione desperately struggled on top of him until she'd managed to topple to the side. But his long fingers wrapped around her leg, and he followed her, rolling over in a heap of limbs and breathless laughter.

His hands slid up inside her shirt, really by mistake, but her smile didn't falter, even as she kicked her feet to get away from him. She shoved his chest, and he finally fell back on the floor, legs overlapping hers.

As their laughter subsided and breathing slowed, the room grew pointedly quiet, and he licked his lips.

"You were wearing your Hogwarts skirt this morning."

"We had plans," she answered at a near whisper.

He sighed deeply, and she withdrew her legs from underneath him to sit up.

"Harry and I switched shifts tonight," she added, chewing her bottom lip in distress. "Sit outside with me? Just for a bit, before you go to bed?"

"Yeah," he agreed roughly, half-smiling up at her.

She tucked her knees up to her chest, not looking directly at him as she spoke, picking at a fray in her jumper sleeve.

"When we go to Australia, we'll have time, if… if you still want to go, when this is over. And-"

"Course I'm going."

She chanced a glance at him and smiled. But then her expression changed to one of stoic determination. He'd wanted her to say more, to finish what she'd started, even a half-formed thought, but she was moving on.

"Well. I should look again now, in all the history books, for mentions of Helga Hufflepuff. I don't like to read too much on watch."

"Right now?" he echoed, wishing he didn't sound so much like a whinging child.

"I should," she repeated, avoiding his gaze again and standing to fetch the books.

He stared up at their canvas ceiling, listening to the now annoyingly familiar patter of rain and the beat of his own heart. He knew what it was like, the need to feel like they were doing all they could to make progress. But a badly buried part of him ignored the facts, held her in his sleep, and forgot about the war. That part felt good, necessary even.

When he shook himself from his thoughts, she was sitting on the sofa, surrounded by books, so he moved silently to join her. For a moment, he stared at her profile, the way the softly glowing lantern light danced in stray curls of her hair by her cheek.

"Maybe we shouldn't be so… distracted," she said, and it took him a drugged moment to comprehend her words.

"You've got three books in your lap," he said slyly, dodging what he knew she was saying.

"You know what I mean," she confirmed, and he couldn't fight. "You said it before, anyway - _distracted_ ," she added, somewhat nervously, "when you were sitting on the floor the other day, and I asked you to come up here…"

"Want me to move?"

"No…" She tucked her hair behind her ear, a useless gesture as it almost immediately fell forward again.

"Was it really that much better before?"

"What do you mean?" She glanced sideways at him, and he draped his arm over the back of the sofa.

"I'd just sulk in my bunk or read way too much into every word you said and obsess over it, trying to decide if maybe it was possible at all that you might just fan-" but he broke off as he realised what he'd almost said. It was probably rubbish by then - he'd admitted to sodding Amortentia - but, apparently, rules were rules. "It wasn't any better, for me."

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes creased at the edges, and he had to try and guess if she was more concerned about hurting him to tell him they had to slow down or more saddened by the idea of it herself. He got his answer, unexpectedly, short seconds later, as she leaned forward, books sliding off her lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck, sighing. Relief flowed through him as he loosely circled his arms around her back.

"When you stayed with Bill and Fleur," she said over his shoulder, "you said you tried to make yourself a bit miserable, because you thought you deserved it. Maybe that's how I feel, out here, sometimes."

"Why the hell would you deserve to be unhappy?"

"I don't mean that, exactly. I thought you'd understand."

"But I did something unforgivable, when I left," he explained, still holding onto her, speaking to her frizzy hair, bunched at her shoulder. "Of course I thought I deserved to be miserable. You haven't done anything-"

"I don't think you know how happy I am to be with you," she interrupted as she pulled back from him.

He'd had more to say, he'd thought, but the words died on his parted lips as he stared at her beautifully flushed face.

"Trust me," he said in a low, raspy voice instead, "I know. I've never… never been this happy."

Her lips trembled for a second before a small, sceptical laugh escaped.

"You know what I mean," he half-smiled back, feeling like his heart was lodged halfway up his throat.

"I don't want to do this anymore," she nearly whispered, and his heart plummeted before she reached for his arm and scooted a bit closer again.

"You mean… living in a tent, freezing to death, and trying not to snog?" He was proud of his bold response, particularly when her gorgeous laughter surrounded him.

"Something like that," she agreed, just as the flap to the loo opened, revealing Harry with tousled, wet hair, dressed in his pyjamas.

"Quick shower, mate," Ron said, and Harry gave him a sceptical brow raise.

"Was it?"

Ron glanced at Hermione, sharing their millionth wordless conversation, and she smiled.

"You go ahead, Ron. I already had a bath this afternoon. I'll just finish looking through these for a bit." She picked up her fallen books as she spoke.

He nodded and stood, heading for the loo and the comfort of a hot shower.

* * *

The rain was light and misty, just enough to be annoying as long minutes passed by. He'd gone outside ahead of her, spreading a blanket on the ground and draping another over his shoulders, to share with her. When she emerged from the tent behind him, he couldn't help noticing how red-rimmed her eyes were, even in the dark.

She lit a jar of bluebell flames and sat beside him, wordlessly tucking her shoulders under the blanket with him.

He cleared his dry throat and shifted closer to her, staring out into the cold dark.

"I want to go home," she cried softly, and his chest clenched, overly aware of the pressure of her shoulder on his arm. He'd never heard her say anything like that before, and it was unsettling.

"Hermione-"

"I'm s-sorry. I really shouldn't have said that," she sniffed. "I'm fine."

"You can say anything you want, to me…" he tried, softly.

"Not _anything_ ," she whispered, sniffing again, and his stomach flipped nervously when she wouldn't look at him.

It really was unhealthy to dance so hard around saying things to each other. But he'd never go back. He'd live here for the rest of his life, caught between knowing how she felt and wondering what she was thinking, what her lips would feel like on his-

"But I know. I know, I can tell you and you won't think I'm being stupid. Just please don't tell Harry."

"Why would I tell him?"

"You wouldn't. I just feel ridiculous." She scratched the side of her nose through her overlong jumper sleeve. "I know we have to keep going. I'd never _leave_ , of course-" but she abruptly cut herself off and stared down at her lap. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Ron."

"Don't. S'fine." He hunched forward slightly, torn between feeling sad for her and feeling selfishly sorry for himself again. Not that he didn't deserve to feel bad, continually, for what he'd done. "You _wouldn't_ leave. We know that."

"Neither would you," she said in a tiny, strained voice.

"Right…" he breathed sarcastically, desperately hoping to get off this repetitive subject. "Look. It's bloody depressing being out here. I get it. I'm really sorry. I wish you could go home, too. I wish it was safe for you, and you could just send us research by owl instead-"

"Shut up. You would never expect me to stay behind while you're out here."

"Yeah, alright." He attempted a small smile that he wasn't sure she saw, now staring out at the barren treeline ahead. "Maybe I'd miss you, too."

That got her lips to twitch, even though she didn't look at him.

"Ignore me, Ron. I'm fine. Just tired."

"Want me to take your watch?"

"No, it's your night off. And I know Harry's still been sleeping poorly, even though he won't admit it. He might need your help."

"I meant I'll take both shifts. You can sleep now, I'll have a long nap tomorrow-"

"Stop it, you can't stay up all night."

"Is that a bet?"

"No!" she laughed incredulously, looking over at him then. "Really, go to bed."

"Don't reckon I can talk you out of it?"

"Not a chance."

"Fine. But you've got to come get me if you can't make it."

"I will."

He didn't want to leave. Her body was warm and pressed against his, and if there was anything good about being here, it was being with her. They had each other, the three of them, yes. But he'd grown somehow even closer to Hermione in more ways than one… in ways that made every second bearable, just because she was there. He hoped she could feel it, too.

He felt a wave of exceptional bravery wash through him as he stared at her lovely face, memorised features he saw even now, again and again, in his dreams.

And he ducked to press a kiss to her cheek, watching her eyes shut blissfully just as his lips touched her skin.

"G'night, Ermynee," he slurred as he pulled back, and she licked her bottom lip as he dragged himself away to stand.

"Goodnight, Ron," she said softly, a glimmer in her beautiful eyes and a shy smile up at him as he turned to go inside.

And though he wouldn't admit it, it was lucky she _hadn't_ taken him up on his offer to take her place on watch. He was asleep the moment his head hit her pillow.

* * *

He woke hazily to the feel of a depression in the bed, to his left. A moment of confusion subsided as he cracked open his eyes. It felt like he'd slept for mere seconds, but Harry's bunk was unmade and empty.

"Over already?" he asked in a sleep-scratchy voice.

"Yes. Harry's just gone out." She tucked her apparently bare legs under their blanket, and her frozen flesh collided with his warmth.

"Blimey, you're _cold_ ," he teased, instantly more alert and draping an arm over her waist as she settled on her pillow next to him.

"Mm, but you're not."

"Will be now you've brought a block of ice to bed."

His forehead briefly touched hers as she sighed. But her fingertips danced down his side, and she seemed momentarily startled.

"What?" he asked hoarsely.

"What are you wearing?"

"Huh?"

A very flustered, very self-conscious look flooded her features.

"Not very much, seems like."

"Oh." He cleared his throat. He'd stripped and fallen into her bed in only his pants. Thin, cotton boxers were the only thing between his current state… and being completely naked in bed with her. It seemed ridiculous now, but he really hadn't thought about it, as if a part of him considered this natural and normal, even though he'd not slept _this_ near-naked with her before.

This was supposed to be embarrassing, she'd told him, and now that he was more fully awake, it was turning that way. He was one second from apologising when it occurred to him that he was feeling a lot of _her_ skin on his, possibly more than usual, but he couldn't be sure.

"You haven't got on much more than I do…"

"Well, that's not the point."

"Right. You've convinced me I should be nervous," he added with a small upward curve of his lips.

She shivered, but her expression wavered with amusement at his callback.

"That's both of us then," she added quietly, but she changed the subject before he had a chance to reply. "I almost had to come get you… or wake Harry early."

"Have a lie in. Harry and I can manage breakfast."

"Hm."

"Can you reach those pyjamas on my bunk, behind you?" he whispered.

"Why?"

He raised a sceptical brow as she flipped over and aligned her back to his bare chest, reaching to pull his arm more securely over her waist, but she wasn't as brave as the gesture felt. He could feel it.

"Oh, now you expect me to just fall asleep like this?"

"You were fine before-"

"Before my half naked g-" He swore under his breath. "Before you got in bed with me in only… _knickers and a vest._ "

"I'm not apologising," she hissed back. "You're only w-wearing pants."

"Do you sleep like this at home?"

"No."

He closed his eyes and unsteadily breathed in the scent of her hair, becoming fixated on the feeling of the backs of her naked thighs against the fronts of his.

"Ron, what would we be doing if we weren't out here?"

Regardless of how she'd meant the question, he knew how he'd interpreted it. For one thing, he'd be snogging her every chance she let him.

"I can't answer that."

"Why not?"

"I dunno." He took a short breath and opened his eyes. "Fine. Harry and I'd be playing Quidditch for Gryffindor, and you'd be studying for N.E.W.T.S…"

After a long pause, she shifted against him, and he closed his eyes again for a moment, sensing this wasn't the answer she was after.

"You're right," she sighed. "And Harry'd be back with Ginny, I suppose."

"Yeah?"

"Of course. He only split with her because of what he had to do… and knowing we all might die. So it's better for her, he thinks, if he lets her go before."

" _He_ thinks?"

"Well," she half-huffed, a comfortingly familiar sound, "it doesn't stop him wanting to be with her, does it. And I don't think she'll give up on him. Maybe it's all just useless. At least she'd know he cares about her."

"I think she probably knows anyway…" Ron admitted, realising it only as he said so, aloud.

"Can you imagine being left out, left behind like that while… while the person you love could be dead?"

"No. Don't wanna imagine it…" He gripped Hermione a bit more tightly, without conscious thought.

They were silent for so long then that he thought she'd fallen asleep, until-

"Ron?"

"Hm?"

"We don't deserve to be unhappy. None of us do."

He couldn't respond, caught thinking a part of him still disagreed, when it came to himself, but also relieved she had taken an optimistic view, for the moment, on whatever they were doing together…

Whatever they were doing.

God, she was so close, her body against him… her cool, bare skin on his. The scent of her soap and her skin and a light hint of the perfume he'd given her was surrounding him, drowning him. Fuck. If they weren't hiding out, he knew exactly what he'd _want_ to be doing… and it had nothing to do with sleep.

Her slow breaths evened out, her body relaxing, his eyes finally slipping shut again, and the chill of the night far away.


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N:** Heyyy! Okay so only one note really, that I sort of intentionally made Hermione's (and Ron's) fears a little repetitive because I personally think that's more realistic to how insecurities work, particularly long standing and deep seeded ones like these two dummies have. Hope you enjoy! x_

* * *

Ron awoke to the sounds of a massive, flooding thunderstorm outside. Hermione was already out of bed, buttoning a pair of jeans, looking stressed, her hair a twisted mess. This, of course, called to mind her state of _undress_ from the middle of the night.

Regret pooled darkly inside him. Not that he'd _ever_ take advantage of her. But he wished he'd taken advantage _of the opportunity_. Clearly, she'd wanted the same thing, coming to bed in only a vest and knickers like that…

"The tent's sinking in the mud," she said when she saw he was awake. "I'm going out to secure it. We might have to move again…"

"Give me a mo' to get dressed, and I'll help."

She nodded distractedly, pulled on a heavy cloak, and dashed from the room.

* * *

He emerged outside minutes later to find Harry and Hermione calf deep in a muddy torrent, wands aimed at the tent.

"Fucking hell!" he shouted above the sounds of the downpour as he stepped out, instantly soaked.

"Can you make it around to the back, Ron?!" Hermione asked desperately. "We've got to put up an extra shield so the tent doesn't flood!"

"I'll give it a go…" he said, wishing he'd sounded less grumbly as he trudged around the side of the tent. His boots sank with a squelch into thick mud as he went, and he cursed under the incessant noise of the storm.

His first attempt at a repellent shield was less than satisfactory. This wasn't his strongest spell, and the conditions weren't making it any easier. Swiping his soaked fringe back from his eyes, he tried again, watching with satisfaction as filthy, rushing water sloshed off and away from his invisible barrier.

He continued around to the other side, checking for spots that needed extra work, and when he eventually came back around within view of Harry and Hermione, he found Harry trying very hard not to laugh as Hermione, who was now coated in mud to her waist, kicked violently in his direction, splashing the front of Harry's jeans.

"Oi!" Ron shouted. Hermione's flushed face glanced back at him, and he saw that she was also struggling against a smile.

"Mate," Harry called out, and a wet handful of mud splattered the front of Ron's jumper before he could dodge it.

"You've both gone mental!"

Hermione's feet slid through the mud as she moved toward Ron, but he caught her elbow just in time to keep her from falling. Her eyes met his pointedly.

"Apparently, I looked hilarious when I fell the first time." She threw a glare over her shoulder, toward Harry.

"Wouldn't want Ron to feel left out, would we." Harry skidded up beside them, and Ron let go of Hermione to hold him off, but momentum knocked them both to the ground.

Harry grimaced and spit as he was splashed across the face, and Hermione crossed her arms in such a Hermione-like gesture of haughtiness as she watched them.

"Honestly!" she shouted down at them as Harry crushed a fistful of muddy grass over Ron's head.

Ron caught her eyes - her hair was plastered to her face, rivulets of rain running down her pink cheeks, and the corner of his mouth wavered up.

"The tent's secure for now. I'm going in for a shower," she announced, swivelling carefully to trudge back inside. "And if you both end up with pneumonia, I told you so."

Ron and Harry smirked at each other, Ron got in one more good splash across Harry's jaw, and they scrambled to get up.

* * *

They'd stood in the cold rain for another minute to wash some of the worst of the mud from their faces, but Ron and Harry were far from clean, waiting for Hermione to emerge from the loo so they could take their turns. They'd stripped down to t-shirts and pants, then huddled on the sitting room rug, sharing a tattered, old blanket.

"I can't get it out of my head, you know," Harry confessed, sniffing.

"What?"

"You _know_ what. An _unbeatable wand_ … what that would mean for us."

Ron sighed roughly through his nose and stared forward, tugging their blanket more securely over his partially exposed left shoulder.

"I know…" he said simply, because there might not actually be any talking Harry down. And at least this was better, they were communicating a bit.

"If _you_ had it," Harry pressed on, and Ron was instantly tense by the continuation of this topic until Harry added, "and there was no bloody war on, what would you do?"

"Blimey, I dunno. Seems brilliant, in a way, and even if you kept it secret-"

"You should," Harry cut in. "You'd likely be killed for it, if anyone found out."

"Right, so… _You'd_ just know, wouldn't you? You'd be safe because no one could beat you or anyone else you protected. And you'd be the _best_ , yeah?"

"But does being the best matter so much if it's the _wand_ that's so amazing, not you?"

"Isn't it sort of the same thing? If I've got a shite wand, I can't do my best anyway. Like bloody second year, innit."

Harry laughed, and Ron nudged him with a sharp elbow.

"How'd we go our whole first year at Hogwarts and not know there was a tree on the grounds that could murder us if we got too close?"

"Seems like something Hermione would've scolded us for _not_ knowing. Bet it's in Hogwarts, A History," Ron smirked.

"What is?" Hermione called out as she pulled back the loo flap, and Ron laughed.

"If we ever need to summon you-"

"Oh, shut up." She moved to drop down on the sofa in front of them, dressed in cozy socks and long pyjamas.

"The Whomping Willow," Harry filled in, chuckling.

"Well, of _course_ it's in Hogwarts, A History," she scoffed, "and I don't think this is the first time I've told you so…"

"Reckon not," Ron agreed.

"Want the shower next, Ron?" Harry asked with a yawn. "You're a bit… worse off than me."

"Oi!"

"You've got twigs in your hair," Hermione pointed out.

"I'm going," he confirmed, brushing against her as he made his way, catching her eyes on him just before he tied the loo flap shut.

* * *

Harry was awfully slow with his turn in the shower, but Ron wasn't complaining for the time alone with Hermione. Unfortunately, she had gotten so absorbed in research again by the time Ron had cleaned up and changed his clothes, that she was hardly paying attention to him.

He scooted closer to her on the sofa, gaze roaming to her bare neck. She'd pulled her hair up on top of her head in a knotted attempt at a bun, and he was unsurprisingly well past caring if she caught him staring. But she made no movement or indication that she'd noticed.

He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa and leaned in even closer, testing the waters. She sniffed and flipped to the next page of the book in her lap. He could strongly smell her shampoo and that unexplainably brilliant Hermione scent of her skin.

He wrinkled his nose as a wisp of her hair that had fallen free by her right ear tickled him.

He probably shouldn't interrupt her anyway. They had important things to do. But they were alone, and the storm had quieted considerably outside, and his eyes drifted to the back of her neck again.

He tilted his head so his fringe brushed her temple, and he couldn't be sure, but he thought he'd seen her lips part slightly.

Filled with a combination of boredom and mischievousness, he ducked to rub his now quite shaggy beard against the back of her neck, and she made the most adorable squeaky sound, hunching her shoulders and leaning forward to get away from him.

"Still want me to keep this?" he grinned as she turned to playfully narrow her eyes at him. "It's getting wild. Doubt Mum would recognise me…"

Her expression changed quickly to something a bit unreadable, and she shrugged.

"Why do you care what I think? Do whatever you want."

"Right," he laughed incredulously, and he watched her cheeks redden as she adjusted her gaze back down toward the book that she was now obviously only pretending to read. "You gonna tell me what you're thinking?"

He should probably just shut up and leave her alone, he reckoned, find something productive to do...

She licked her bottom lip, and her eyes darted over to him, for a brief second.

"Would we _really_ be together, if we were at Hogwarts right now?" she asked tensely, and a frozen shock filled him momentarily. Maybe they couldn't read each other's minds as well as he'd thought, lately…

What did she want him to say? His silence must have made her instantly nervous, because she pressed on.

"When I asked you last night, you didn't really answer me, and I… I just don't want things to be different, only because of our circumstances-"

"You didn't _ask_ ," he pointed out, but she sighed, and he leaned back a bit to see her profile better. "Yeah, alright, I knew what you meant, but what was I supposed to say? And there's no way in hell you can think I've just made up everything I've already said…"

"Like what?" she asked curiously, fully facing him.

"Do you really want me to be more specific," he started, ears burning but ready to do it anyway, "tell you exactly what I'd want to be doing if we weren't out here?"

Her breathing quickened as she held his gaze, and Harry coughed behind them as he emerged from the loo and headed for the kitchen. Her cheeks blotched with a rosy flush, and he felt as conflicted as she looked. On the one hand, she bloody well knew he was in love with her. The fact that she'd questioned it today was just who they were - uncertainty and insecurity was as familiar to her as it might have been to him, he reckoned, only in vastly different ways. Except for this one. But, on the other hand, they had agreed, and an irrational part of him was afraid that waiting was keeping them alive.

The lines were so blurry, and-

And yet, there was a part of _him_ that still wondered, if it wasn't for the war-

 _Would she honestly want to be with me?_

"Wait," she whispered, and her gaze struck him so painfully for a moment. This was really difficult for her, too. She wanted him to say it. Didn't she…

He wouldn't bring it up again, not unless she asked him.

"I should help Harry with breakfast," she cringed, and he tilted his head toward the kitchen, letting her go.

* * *

It occurred to him later that she might've only wanted him to wait a matter of days, or even _hours_ , and that Harry's arrival could have been the real reason she'd paused the conversation, not her wish to stop it altogether. But no. _He wouldn't bring it up_ , he reminded himself. Not unless she did first.

He had first watch, and as she went toward bed, she brushed her hand against his, and he failed to come up with anything neutral to say, so he tugged his cloak tighter and went outside without a goodnight.

Hours pressed on, dark and cold and damp. The storm had given up, but the ground was still soaked and muddy, and droplets of stale water fell from the trees to splash startlingly at uneven intervals. The sharp contrast between his fatigue and high alert at each new sound seemed to amplify his discomfort tenfold, and bed was seeming more and more like a distant, fantastical dream. Particularly a bed in which Hermione was currently sleeping… and would continue sleeping, with him.

He obsessively thought back to when she'd been planning something with him, outside. Outside seemed less than appealing, now. He wondered if she was still thinking about it, too. Would they move the tent in the morning? Surely they could find dry ground higher up. And his motives weren't entirely selfish… Unexpected mud fights aside, foraging for food in a swamp sounded unbelievably unpleasant, for everyone.

There was a rustling sound from inside, and Ron glanced at his watch. It was over an hour still til the start of Harry's shift.

Hermione emerged, looking exhausted.

"I couldn't sleep," she said dully, stepping outside to sit next to him, not touching. "Harry's awake, too. He'll probably come out in a minute and start his turn early."

She crossed her arms over her body, perhaps for warmth, but she seemed deeply lost in thought, and not a pleasant one. Whatever it was must have also kept her awake. Yes, she'd come out to sit with him, he rationalised, but he was too tired to make it stick.

"Have I done something?" he asked, instead.

"Why do you always ask me that?"

"Because I usually _have_ done…"

She fully looked at him then, still hugging herself, shoulders hunched. The silence called some alertness back from where it had started to slide away again, in the deepest dark, in the depths of the night.

"We have too much time to think, out here," she sighed at last, and he vaguely nodded agreement. "Half the time I know I'm being ridiculous, but I can't help it."

"Ridiculous about what?"

"Caring if you'd really be…" she sniffed, nervously, "snogging me or not by now, if we weren't out here."

"That's what's keeping you awake?" he asked, stunned.

"Sort of."

"But you stopped me from answering you, yeah?"

"I know," she sighed again. "I don't know what I want." His body tensed fiercely enough that she might have even been able to see it. "I don't know what I want you to _say_ ," she clarified, and he relaxed, but only slightly.

"S'alright," he dismissed, hoarsely, and she stared at him again, as if she was looking for something. He was somewhat deliriously wondering if she had found it when she spoke again.

"There are only a few things I'm really, really sure of, and-" She stopped herself, shaking her head. Looking away.

"Like what?" he pried, cursing in his mind immediately after the words were out.

For several stretched moments, she stared out at the trees, those uneven drips of rainwater splashing in the mud, some far off, some so close by he could feel a light ricochet of moisture on his face.

"You," he heard her answer in a tired, whispery voice. He couldn't breathe or swallow, lips parted as his throat constricted.

She sniffed again and rubbed her nose on her jumper sleeve.

"This is rubbish," he said roughly, desperate to touch her.

Her forehead creased with confusion bordering on hurt as she looked at him again.

"I know you already know, and you just want to hear it because you're tired and scared, and being out here is making us all depressed and bitter, but what the hell difference does it make if you _know_ the truth or if I say it?"

"It doesn't, it shouldn't," she said quickly, and he immediately realised she'd missed the point.

"No, I mean… just _let_ me say it again, so you'll know, _really_ know."

She shivered as she stared at him.

"What are you actually afraid of?"

He didn't want to sound so lost and desperate and frustrated, but it was beginning to seem mildly pointless to dance in circles if she really needed more. There should have been no question, really, but he understood better than he'd let on, because it was constantly on his mind, too. She would come to bed with him, every night, and then she'd turn away to do what they had to do, and he'd convince himself it was somehow less than real. Simply knowing the truth and being reminded of it again were very different things.

"I… I'm afraid you'll tell me exactly what I want to hear, and I won't be strong enough to keep fighting."

"Of course you're strong enough. And that's rubbish, since you know anyway."

He paused as she bit her lip, conflicted. But then her shoulders sagged, and her eyes were filling with tears, visible with the soft flicker of Bluebell flames.

"I'm gonna answer you. I'm gonna say a lot more this time. Stop me."

Her eyes briefly widened, but she said nothing. He swallowed, suddenly filled with singed nerves, catching the light sounds of Harry moving around inside the tent behind them. He lowered his voice to a deep, hoarse whisper and leaned in very close to her.

"I already thought I should've done it at the end of last year. But everything with Lavender made me bloody scared you'd hex me. Maybe I'd been wrong, but if I got the idea that I wasn't, and that you wanted me to, we'd get back to Hogwarts for our seventh year, and you'd be Head Girl, so you'd put us on rounds together, and I'd feel bad about it, because you're you and you'd want to follow the rules, but I'd suggest we patrol the classrooms, and I'd pull you into one of them and tell you I'd… bloody hell, that I'd fancied you for fucking forever, and then I'd snog you, and you'd kiss me back, and that would be it, really. I'd call you my girlfriend, even though that doesn't sound like enough of a word, and we'd spend all year finding places to hide together, and you'd always be afraid we'd get caught, but you'd do it anyway. You're too clever to get caught, you know, so you'd find the best places and use the best charms-"

She was fully crying by then, silent tears rolling down her face as Harry stepped out behind them, bloodshot eyes and hair sticking up at all angles.

"What's going on?" he asked blearily, because there was no time for Hermione to hide her tears.

"I'm just tired, Harry," she said, scrambling to stand up, without looking at him. "Goodnight." She disappeared inside, and Harry adjusted his glasses as he took her place on the ground.

Ron was finding it hard to breathe normally, too absorbed to acknowledge Harry's presence.

"What'd you say?" Harry asked, only half joking.

"Too much, I think," Ron breathed. "Sure you're alright out here?"

"Yeah…"

"Goodnight then." He stood and went inside slowly, feeling almost numb.

* * *

He'd taken way too long in the loo, trying to work out if she hated him for saying too much or just didn't want Harry to see.

When he finally, quietly entered the bedroom, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring off at nothing. An apology pushed itself forward in his mind, but he stuffed it back down. He stood there, too awkwardly, afraid to move away or closer. And then, at last, she spoke, and he had to hold his breath to hear her soft voice.

"I could've made the Room of Requirement look like your bedroom at the Burrow. I would have wanted to sleep there every night with you, but I'd have woken up panicking in the middle of the night that someone would come looking for me and I wouldn't be where I was supposed to be. So we'd only sleep together on special occasions, or when I really, really missed you."

He released his held breath and sank down on the bed beside her, washed over with relief.

"Brilliant," he sighed, slouching forward so his elbows rested on his knees. "Although I'm not sure we'd get much actual sleep."

She faced him with a tearful grin, and he smiled back as she gently took his hand.

"You'd really still fancy me now," she began, voice shaking slightly, "even if I wasn't the only girl around you every day?"

"No question. Not gonna change."

"Why not?" she asked rather daringly.

"You want me to make a list?"

"Of…?"

"Everything I love about you."

Immediately, his ears were ringing. Love. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her wide, unblinking eyes were staring back into his, and her grip on his hand was cutting off his circulation.

"That's not the s-same as saying it," he rambled quickly. "It's _not_."

The absurdity of this mattering so much after telling her he'd smelled her soap in a love potion was momentarily lost on him again. On her as well, it seemed. His _voice_ , actually _on_ The Word, was apparently an entirely different thing than his voice on _surrounding_ words.

"It's-"

"Stop, _stop_. Ron." She let go of his hand and gently covered his mouth with her palm. He briefly closed his eyes, and then she released him.

She shifted to lie down on her bed, half pulling him with her.

"Tell me what we'd _do_ , instead, in the Room of Requirement."

His eyebrows twitched up.

"How… how would you touch me?" she clarified.

"Fuck."

"Before that," she said, so timidly. He blinked at her, then a giddy laugh rolled out of him.

"Oh my God," he grinned. "Okay."

He watched her swallow, eyes a bit wide with anticipation.

"Bloody hell. Okay," he repeated, clearing his throat. "I… I reckon we'd snog in my bed first. Shit, that's a wicked idea, y'know, turning it into my room at the Burrow."

"Shh," she laughed lightly, biting her bottom lip then through a smile. "Harry'll hear what you want to do with me."

"Harry knows what I want to do with you."

"What?!"

"I don't mean I've _told_ him, blimey. But he's my best mate, and we shared a bedroom for six years, and he asked me if I'd snogged you yet, the other day."

She seemed momentarily startled by this news, but it quickly faded.

"Told you he'd think we were, when we were out picking those berries," she said.

"Yeah. Anyway, do you want to hear more or not?"

She smiled widely at him. "Continue."

"Want me to take your shirt off?" Her lips parted, searching for an answer. "At Hogwarts," he clarified, neck and face growing so hot he was sure she could see his flush even in the dark.

She nodded without speaking, and he licked his lips, adjusting his legs to touch hers.

"Right. So… I'd do that." He smiled, and she returned it. "Then I'd… you wouldn't be wearing a bra, so… so I'd be bloody nervous about seeing you naked for the first time, and I would just touch you lightly at first, til I knew you wanted me to do more…"

"How would you know?" she squeaked softly, and he cleared his throat again.

"You… you'd sort of lean closer and make those little noises you make."

"Noises?"

"Mm. Like little moans, y'know. You do that now, when I…" He trailed off, body cold from lying on top of their quilt but face burning up from saying so much to her, so close.

Her expression was a mixture of mesmerised interest and flushing embarrassment.

"Come under here," she suggested.

She squirmed around to pull the quilt out from under them, and he instantly knew it was largely an excuse to get closer as she slid a leg between his and almost touched her nose to his on their shared pillow, buried in blankets to their shoulders. He slid his hand daringly along her side, slowly up the back of her shirt. She moaned, and he grinned.

"Like that," he said, cheekily.

"Shut up," she whispered, fighting her own grin.

"You'd make _that noise_ -" she playfully rolled her eyes "-so I'd sort of cover your body with my hands, so I could feel every bit of your skin."

She trembled lightly against him.

"Go on," she urged, breathlessly.

"And… I'd kiss your neck, and your chest, and then we'd take off my shirt, too, and I'd sort of lie down on top of you so all our skin would be touching." She slipped her leg further between his, bringing her thigh up dangerously close to his crotch, and he felt so dizzy it was becoming hard to even search for real words to string together.

"Can we do it, after your watch tomorrow night?" she asked in a strained whisper.

"Huh?"

"What we were supposed to do yesterday, before Harry came out early."

"Oh. Yeah. God, yes."

Former train of thought completely derailed, he was suddenly wide awake and obsessively running through possible scenarios for the next night, again.

"You would do anything I wanted, wouldn't you…" she acknowledged, so quietly, looking immensely guilty for some reason.

"Reckon I would," he sighed back.

"I know you stopped me saying this before, but it really is my fault."

"Huh? For wanting to do this right, for wanting to wait til we aren't shagging in a tent with Harry outside because we think we might not make it?"

Well, shit. She hadn't asked for that, hadn't told him to be so blunt.

"Sorry, sorry," he backtracked quickly. "Shit. I know we can't, anyway. I don't mean… I'm sorry."

But then her reaction wasn't what he would have expected. A sort of secret grimace crossed her face before she closed her eyes.

"I don't want to confuse you," she said as her eyes cracked open again.

"Not confused. Don't think I am, anyway."

"You're still alright with this?"

"I'll do anything you want, remember?" he teased, but he meant it as well.

"Tomorrow night," she said again, and they fell silent, just looking at each other, his arm around her and her hand curled at his chest until they drifted slowly off to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N:**_ _Uhhhhhh. Here this is. It's shorter than the previous chapters have been because it's mostly just about getting to that one scene at the end… and because I was obsessed with ending it on a specific final moment, which you'll see. The next chapter will probably be longer. Thanks for all the reviews from yesterday's chapter! I'm so glad everyone liked it. You have no idea how delighted it makes me to read those comments and enjoy Ron/Hermione with you all! Hope this one meets your expectations as well! x_

* * *

Her back was toward him when he woke, and his hand was buried in her hair. It was just nearing dawn, he reckoned, from the hazy light glowing around them, through canvas.

He slowly moved his fingers, feeling her thick curls between them. It was so deliriously comforting to wake up with her this way. He breathed slowly, deeply, seeking some sense of future to grasp onto. He tried to picture their own flat, maybe in London. They were safe, and it was a quiet Sunday morning, and they had no place to be but right there, with each other.

His hand combed absentmindedly through her hair, vision still a bit blurry with sleep, and though he knew he'd have to get up and face reality soon, he gave himself permission to forget it, just for another moment, like taking that first sip of water at the edge of a desert. This was how he got better; this was how they kept going.

He freely let himself think _the word_ , because it didn't matter inside his own head. Her request to keep some words unspoken didn't make them any less real. In fact, sometimes, because of how obsessed with holding back he had become, it almost made it _more_ , somehow.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered, still facing the canvas wall, and he really hadn't realised she'd been awake.

He considered, for a long moment, how he should answer her. A single word floated up to the surface.

"Soap," he muttered to the back of her neck, through her hair.

Silence engulfed them again, and he fiercely hoped she'd understand, that she'd recall their intense conversation from the bath several days ago. Aside from his brief mistake the previous night, the only solid piece of evidence he'd given her before, when he'd almost slipped up and said the word, was the scent of her soap. _Love_.

At last, she lightly cleared her throat.

"Soap?" she repeated shakily.

"Yeah."

"Do you… think about soap a lot?"

Bloody hell, she understood. He grinned and closed his eyes.

"Every day."

There was a brief pause, a loud sniff, and she said, "I think about soap a lot, too."

He blinked at the back of her head, overwhelmed for a moment before feeling a wave of brilliance pass through him. Fuck, this might have been the most clever thing he'd ever done. Now they could say it any time, and they'd know what it meant without _actually_ saying it.

She rolled over to face him, looking sleepy but surprised… perhaps a bit pleased, as well. She breathed in deeply, then reached up to hook her fingers over the collar of his t-shirt. He slid his hand up the side of her neck, then brushed his thumb across her cheek and watched as her eyes fluttered shut.

"I was just imagining we didn't have anything to do, so we stayed in bed all day," he said, moving his thumb a second time.

She smiled with her eyes still closed.

"We'll do that, for sure, as soon as we're home."

He thought momentarily of confessing that he'd been thinking of their _own_ home, together. But sleeping so close to her and talking about soap had made him bolder than perhaps he should have been. He trailed his fingertips lightly back down her neck and let go.

She opened her eyes, and everything surrounded them again. The tent, what they were really doing, the impossible weight of it.

"I'll see if Harry needs help," he said, and she nodded sadly as he climbed out of bed.

* * *

The day passed as they all seemed to do - slowly, monotonously. By Ron's mid-afternoon forage, he'd come to the conclusion that the quickly drying ground meant they should stay put, where at least they knew they could find something edible for a while. At least until they had another plan, another spark of inspiration.

He repetitively found it too insurmountable lately to think of all the places they hadn't been, focusing instead on recollection. He'd begun to write down bits of conversation he'd overheard, anything that might be useful, what the Snatchers who'd captured him as soon as he'd left had said to each other. Anything.

Hermione was similarly trying to recall memorised passages from books she'd not brought along with them, and he found it more than a little incredible that she could do that… though not too surprising, really, considering how well he knew her.

It _did_ come as a bit of a surprise when Hermione announced her watch was about to begin. He'd completely lost track of how late it had gotten, after supper.

"See you in a few hours?" she muttered to him as she pulled on her cloak.

"Yeah," was all he could say back, because now he had to try and get some sleep, knowing what they had planned for later. _Knowing_ was a bit strong as he still wasn't entirely sure he was clear on what was going to happen, but whatever it was, it would be absolutely brilliant.

* * *

He stretched out on her bed, lying on his back with his hand tucked behind his head. He hadn't realised, at first, but Harry was still awake, rolling the snitch around his palms from his own bunk, above Ron's disused one.

Ron watched Harry for a moment, wondering if he should say something, but this was also as close as they had consciously come to facing the reality that Harry knew Ron was sleeping in Hermione's bed. So he closed his eyes instead, hoping sleep would take him quick, if only to pass the time.

* * *

"Ron."

Her voice hissed by his ear, and he finally opened his eyes. He'd flipped to his stomach in his sleep, fringe choppily cutting across his eyes to obscure his vision of her where she was crouching on the floor, next to him.

"I couldn't stay awake any longer, and it's your turn."

"Oi, sorry," he said, sitting up. "Haven't been using my alarm."

He ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair as she watched him.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You were mumbling in your sleep."

"Was I? Could you hear what I was saying?"

"Not really." She moved to sit on the bed beside him, yawning.

"Go on to sleep. I'm up." He stood and reached for two jumpers at the foot of his own bed, tugging them on over his head.

"Do you still-" she sniffed "-want me to come outside with you, later?"

He blinked down at her, then raised an incredulous brow.

"Yeah…"

"Alright," she smiled, shyly. "7:30? It'll be nearly sunrise by then."

"Yeah," he said again, apparently the only word he could form at the moment.

She moved to lie down, and he escaped to the loo to breathe. He hadn't forgotten, but hours of sleep had separated him from the knowledge that this was happening, so soon. He scrutinised his reflection, turning right and then left, bracing himself with his hands on the edge of the sink and thinking way too much. Without knowing exactly what her plans were, he wasn't sure how to prepare. Did he _need_ to prepare? Why hadn't he been like this the last time this possibility had been in the air?

What sort of pants was he wearing?

Fuck.

He shook his head - he wasn't going to check - and he brushed his teeth for the second time in six hours. Idiot, he thought. She wasn't going to _kiss_ him…

When at last he went outside, he was assaulted by a frozen gust of wind. At least he'd be distracted somewhat from obsessing over his meeting with Hermione in a few hours by shivering and staring into the dark.

Damn, it was cold. The days had been marginally better here than farther north, but the long nights brought nearly the same sort of miserable bone-chill. Inside the tent, he shared his body heat with another person, and he hardly noticed the icy weather anymore. But outside, alone, he was struck with the affliction of it, longing for a fire he couldn't risk igniting.

His thoughts darted back to Hermione's pleated uniform skirt and her words, from the night before that… because it bloody looked and sounded like she was planning to _touch herself_ in front of him. He forced himself to calm down, flipping his wand over in his hand.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his shoulders and trying to focus. He had hours to go before she'd join him. He had to think about anything else.

He thought about home. He wondered, for the millionth time, if his family was alright, if the Burrow had survived.

No, this was worse, to think about that. _Quidditch_. He could think about Quidditch.

It took him approximately two whole minutes for his mind to drift back to Hermione again.

"Goddamn it," he muttered under his breath. He stretched his legs and sat up straighter, playing a game with himself where he averted his eyes from his wristwatch as long as he possibly could.

* * *

He was blinking too often by the time he noticed the sky had begun to lighten. And then, she was there, stepping out behind him in her Hogwarts skirt, knee socks, and a blue jumper, holding a blanket.

"Harry's still sound asleep," she said. "Snoring, actually."

"Right. G'morning," he teased, standing and brushing leaves from his flannel pyjamas.

"Where should we go?" she asked timidly. He cleared his dry throat.

"The wards go down that slope on the left, yeah?"

"A bit, yes."

He shrugged, and she began to lead the way. He couldn't help staring at the way the faintly purple, pre-dawn light haloed her head, like a surreal sort of dream. The cold, for so many hours, had made his skin almost feel numb, but it was waking up again now.

They cut through a line of trees and over a slight ridge, stopping with an expansive view of the shadowy valley down the other side of the hill. She found a spot where the ground leveled a bit, not looking directly at him, and spread her blanket out.

"Alright?" she asked, and he nodded, though she must not have seen him, kneeling down on the blanket instead.

He joined her cautiously, heart pounding.

"I don't want to say it," she started, "but we probably shouldn't stay down here for long, just in case."

"You're right," he agreed softly, shifting on his knees somewhat nervously.

"Look, I… I just wanted to be really alone with you."

"I know. Me too."

"You're shaking a bit."

"Sorry," he smiled.

"Hold my hand or something."

He obeyed her immediately, smoothing his fingers over her knuckles. She was shaking, too. She stared down at their hands, loosely clasped together, and he couldn't see her clearly enough in such hazy light, curtains of shadow framing her face from her hair falling over her shoulders.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he instructed, because he really wanted to be sure he understood why they were out here, before he made any guesses.

"We could… lie down in opposite directions, but keep our faces close together."

"Okay."

He reluctantly let go of her hand to do it, both of them lying down on their backs atop the blanket, legs stretched out off opposite edges. He turned to look at her just as she did the same. They were so, so close, but he was distracted by seeing her face upside down. His gaze darted up to her lips, then back down to her eyes.

He nudged his head a tiny bit closer, and his forehead touched the tip of her nose.

"I didn't sleep much, thinking about this," she admitted.

"We don't have to do anything," he whispered. "We could just lay here for a bit, and-"

"You don't want to?"

"Want to what?"

Her eyes shut briefly, and he bent his left arm up to touch her hair with the tips of his fingers.

"I… I imagine it's you," she began, eyes still closed, "when I… when I go to the loo, and… I imagine it's your hands on me, instead of mine."

It _was_ what he'd thought, after all, and he struggled to catch his breath. Her eyes opened, lightening pre-dawn reflecting off them.

"Do you think about me," she asked, "when you-"

"Your hands, your mouth," he slurred, feverishly.

" _Ron_ , I- I…" She trembled and inhaled shakily. "Hold my hand again?" She reached up for him, and he untangled his fingers from her hair to clasp her cold hand once more in his much larger one, between their faces. His vision of her eyes blurred out of focus, but he could easily tell when she arched her back and moved her free hand down…

A gasping breath floated between her parted lips. And she was really going to do it.

"Do you think you could just- just look at my face and not-"

"Yeah, yeah, got it," he muttered immediately, aware of his own hand moving down to the elastic waist of his pyjamas but hesitating.

He could picture everything anyway, the way her hand would look between her legs, a strip of gorgeous bare thigh between her skirt and knee socks. Her uneven breath wafted through the hair on top of his head.

"Are you going to do it, too?" she asked with a strained, airy moan.

"Yeah," he groaned back, and his hand finally slid beneath the waistband of his pyjamas and pants, fingers wrapping tightly. He clenched her hand at the same time, and another gentle gasp ruffled his fringe.

He moved slowly at first, skin burning even in the cold as he stared at her face. A pink streak of light had broken dawn, and it illuminated her jaw and the tip of her nose.

One day, it _would_ be his hand on her, instead of her own. Currently, his hand pumped faster inside his pants.

This was by far the most intimate thing he'd ever done or ever even pictured _actually_ doing with her in the near future. _Hermione_ was staring at him, as she touched herself, as he did the same. He was quickly losing control.

He pressed his lips to her knuckles and resisted closing his eyes, wanting to keep staring back into her eyes til the end. He could tell she must be thinking the same thing, lids heavy then opening wider again. Tiny sounds of pleasure surrounded him, her panting moans and his low vibrating ones. And as the sunrise glinted more acutely off the side of her face, he gave in to mild delirium, from exhaustion, and the last remaining ounce of strength he had flowed out of him, struggling against a strangled groan that searched for her name.

She hadn't stopped, and he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Ron," she whispered, and he dragged her knuckles across his lips, catching his breath. She turned her head away, staring up at the pink and orange streaked sky through barren tree limbs, and her body gave a final, shuddering jolt, hand clenching his, nails digging into his palm.

She was lying there, a tendril of hair across her face, stuck to her parted lips, chest heaving as she recovered.

He couldn't move.

At last, she let go of his hand, squirmed around to adjust her clothing, licked her lips, and furtively glanced at him.

"You can get up. I won't l-look."

He didn't think he'd actually mind if she did…

It took far too much effort to sit up, cast a cleansing charm on himself, and tug his pants and pyjamas back into place. He slouched forward, ran a hand through his hair. He could feel her sitting up behind him, leaves rustling across the ground as a gust of frozen wind blew by.

"Are you-" she started.

"Yeah, safe," he sighed, not even giving a thought for how he'd known what she was asking. He felt her turn around, could sense her eyes on him. She leaned closer, resting her shoulder on his back.

He'd never felt so overwhelmed in all his life. And so exhausted. She touched her cheek to the side of his head.

"Soap," she whispered in his ear, and he closed his eyes.


	22. Chapter 22

They'd probably stayed there too long, just listening to the sounds of their mingled breaths and the new day coming to life. But Ron could just barely see the entrance to the tent while sitting up, so he had delayed making any moves to go back inside, as long as he possibly could. For one thing, he wasn't sure he could reliably stand. And for another, she hadn't made any moves to leave either.

He knew she'd have loads of work to do, but when they had finally both regained enough composure to return to the tent, she sank immediately down onto the sofa, pulled a blanket over her legs, and stared up at him with a question in her eyes, one he wished he knew how to answer.

Harry emerged from the loo as Ron sat beside her, trying to work out what to say. She lowered her head to his shoulder, and he let it go, deciding that any conversation could be saved til he was more coherent and lucid. In a few _months_ , he reckoned, after what they'd just done…

Harry asked a question about tea as he went to the kitchen, and Ron had answered so mechanically that he was somewhat startled to realise, moments later, that he had no bloody idea what he'd said back.

Harry eventually returned with two hot cups, handing one to Ron. He sipped it slowly, then shifted to set it down on the coffee table, Hermione's head slipping off his shoulder precariously til he leaned back again. He hadn't realised she'd fallen asleep.

His body felt a bit like jelly, his mind as if he'd been awake for days. It couldn't hurt to close his eyes, just for a little bit.

"Did you sleep alright, Harry?" he asked hoarsely.

"Not bad," Harry answered noncommittally, finishing his tea.

"Mm," and Ron's eyes drifted shut.

* * *

The next thing he knew, he was slowly blinking awake, Hermione's head still heavy against him, digging somewhat painfully into his bony shoulder. But he wasn't going to move her.

It was fully morning, bright yellow light filling the tent more completely than he reckoned they'd seen it do in weeks. A great day for anything they'd need to get done outside. It was easy to feel somewhat stifled inside for so long, even with their night watches. They'd still been closed away from the wind and rain and snow for most of their waking and sleeping hours, since he'd come back.

He could hear Harry by the tent entrance, most likely brooding in the sun. He'd join him, later. But for the moment, he wanted to let Hermione sleep.

He considered if anything productive could be done from his place on the sofa before summoning his notes from the kitchen table, a hardbound book, and a self-inking quill, reviewing what he should notate next. _It_ had been rolling around in his mind, and as much as he didn't particularly fancy putting words to paper about it, he reckoned he should. It might be important. It _was_ important. He was being selfish.

He scratched out a heading on the next free page in his recollections: _Horcrux #3 - Slytherin's Locket._

He briefly closed his eyes, trying to let the memories resurface in a detached sort of way. Echoes of feelings swirled around in his stomach - anger, fear, resentment, jealousy. Self-loathing.

He tried to describe the way it had taken hold of him, the suspicion that his weakened state, from being splinched, had made him more vulnerable than he already was. He tried to pinpoint the moment when putting the locket on for his turn had shifted to a twisted sort of masochism. He'd been able to hear his own depressive, lonely thoughts, inside his head, and he had felt the confirmation of them slamming against him again with every moment that had passed, every word Harry had spoken… _she'd_ spoken.

He paused his writing, leaving a large space of blank parchment to skip the memories of his departure. He'd come back to those some other time, in the middle of the night, perhaps.

But the next bit froze him, too. The way he'd returned and destroyed it. But this was the bit they really needed to record. Harry had seen it, yes. But Ron had _felt_ it, deep in his bones, in his soul. They hadn't planned for this, but it had nearly torn them apart.

 _Once Harry and I got out of the frozen pool, he asked me to destroy the locket with the sword of Gryffindor. But I didn't want to ever have to face it again. I knew pretty clearly by then what it had done to me before, and I would never leave Harry and Hermione again, but I could feel it even then, when I got too close._

 _Harry assured me I was meant to destroy it, but I didn't really trust that I could. I honestly only agreed to do it because he was asking me to. We set it down on a rock, and Harry used Parseltongue to open it. It was like someone had sucked all the warmth from the world and maybe I was drowning in the frozen pool we'd just escaped, and I didn't think I could breathe. I should have acted quicker, but it spoke to me, and Harry could hear it this time, too. I was too stunned to move at first. Then, I saw him - Harry - and Hermione, coming out of it, sort of transparent and twisted but bloody realistic. It knew what I was afraid of, and it must've known I would believe it better if it came from the two of them. So it used them to tell me out loud._

 _They told me I was useless and they were better off without me. They told me my family didn't want me, Hermione didn't want me. She told me herself, from inside the locket. And then she kissed him - Harry - and he kissed her back._

"Ron?"

Hermione's head shifted on top of his shoulder, and he shoved the parchment off his lap, to his opposite side, as she sat up.

"Hey," he said in an overly strained attempt to sound casual.

"What are you working on? How long was I asleep?"

"Not too long, I don't think," he said, avoiding her first question, thinking up an escape. "Want some tea?"

"What were you writing?"

"It's not very good, what we've got left - just a weak breakfast tea, but-"

"Ron."

She was looking at him with a demanding sort of curiosity, her hair sticking up higher on the right side, where her head had been smooshed to his shoulder. Of course it had been careless of him to write it all out with her sleeping against him, if he wasn't ready to explain himself. But he _was_ going to. Just maybe not yet. Maybe not _right_ then, in that moment. Things had been going so fucking well…

Maybe he'd subconsciously sabotaged himself. That was a distressing thought, but it _had_ been a conversation he'd put off and mulled over before stamping deep down to be ignored… for too long, already.

She pointedly raised her eyebrows, and her gaze flicked to the parchment he'd abandoned.

He couldn't evade her. Not when she got like this. She'd seen too much to let it go.

"Yeah, alright." He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand over his face. He cynically wondered what it would be like to sleep in his own bed again, alone.

"Let me see it."

He winced. "Can't I just tell you, instead?"

She looked mildly offended, uncomfortable. "Is it that bad?"

"Not sure yet…"

She sat up straighter, fully awake and present now, staring at him and tensely gripping the back of the sofa with her right hand, so close to his shoulder.

"Just remember that this isn't how I feel now. Bloody Horcrux fucked me up, but that's over. I was only writing it down just now in case it's useful to us, later."

Her eyebrows lifted at the mention of _this_ topic, but then she nodded tersely.

"Right. The locket showed me something, right before I destroyed it, that I haven't been able to tell you yet." He paused to swallow, rubbing his beard nervously. "I know it's stupid, and I know I was an arse about it, but… it was you and Harry."

"What do you mean?"

"You and Harry, snogging."

It took her a few tense seconds to comprehend his confession and part her lips, staring at him like she was seeing him for the first time in months.

" _What_?!" she squeaked out. " _Why_?!"

"Because I'm an arse, like I said…"

"No," she countered, fiercely. "Tell me."

He inhaled deeply, sighed it back out. His weak attempts at self-deprecating humour were useless now. It wasn't going to change what he had to say.

"It wanted me to feel alone and worthless, yeah?" he reminded her, starting off with a safe baseline of what they'd already discussed, a few weeks ago. "And it knew how I felt about you, because it knew _everything_ about me. It was… part of me, I guess. Or it was _just_ me, already feeling sorry for myself and letting the worst possible things be the truth. And it wanted those fears to be real so I'd abandon you both, so we'd fail. It fights not to be destroyed, doesn't it. If we gave up, it might've saved itself."

"But… me and _Harry_." She said it with such shocked discomfort that he allowed a small triumphant flutter to spring up inside him, a reflection of a _former_ self, but still a distinct reverberation of his past.

"He's the only other bloke we're out here with," Ron reasoned. "And he's your best friend."

" _You're_ my best friend."

"Well," he started, with another pleasant wave of satisfaction. "Fine, but you know what I mean.

"I love Harry. I really do. But like a _brother_. It's always been that way-"

" _I thought you knew_."

She blinked at him. "What?"

He smiled and leaned back against the sofa.

"S'what Harry said, after he saw what came out of the locket for me - that you've always been like a sister to him, that he'd never said it before because he'd always thought I'd known it already."

"Well, yes," she sniffed, releasing the sofa back to cross her arms, bending one of her legs up on the cushion between them. "You should've."

"How?" He knew instantly that he had her there, though he hadn't set out with the intention to be defensive. It was only that… he could understand his own fears, logically, even if he no longer felt them.

"When have I ever shown _any_ interest in him that way?"

"Dunno. You told him he was fanciable or some rubbish."

"I did _what_?!"

"Y'know, I think you meant it in a general sense, but-"

"I asked you on a date!"

"But what if it had been you and I invited to that daft party, instead, and Harry had wanted to go? Would you have asked _him_?"

Her lips parted to answer, then abruptly shut again.

"You would've, as a friend," he answered for her. "But then how was I supposed to tell the difference?"

"I never told you you were _fanciable_ , because _I_ fan-" She cut herself off with a frustrated little cough. "Harry could've gone with any girl he'd wanted and it wouldn't have concerned me. But with _you…_ "

He was working up a response to this when she let out a sudden huff of annoyance.

"If you'd just told me what the locket was making you worry about, I could have fixed it, and you never would have left!"

"You realise it's been nearly a month I've been back, and we're only just now talking about this?"

"So why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"No, I don't mean… My point is how could I have told you I was afraid you fancied Harry when… I was still afraid you fancied Harry?"

"That makes no sense." She wrinkled her nose. "So many terrible things happen to us because we won't talk about them."

"It's a little easier now, innit," he reasoned.

She rubbed at her eyes, still looking frazzled and tired and stunned, all at the same time.

"It wasn't only you, anyway," he said softly. "I thought I was useless to everyone. My family, Harry… myself."

She sucked in a breath, clearly to protest, but he shook his head to stop her.

"I don't need you to tell me that's wrong. S'okay now. It's just what I was trying to write down, in case it can help us later, with the next Horcrux."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes again with the sleeve of her jumper.

"So, you've told me everything now?"

"Pretty much. You can read the parchment when I'm done writing it all, if you want. I just didn't want that to be how you found out."

She nodded vaguely, then turned to sit properly on the sofa again, facing forward, with both her legs off the edge.

"Y'know I was putting this off 'cause I thought it'd be a bloody bad row," he admitted, "and I didn't want to have to go back to sleeping in my own bed…"

She shoved her hair back off her right shoulder and glanced sideways at him.

"Maybe we're getting better at this."

"Maybe," he agreed with a relieved smile.

"You should have told me, months ago," she said, one more time.

"Probably." He shrugged. "We should've told each other loads of things. Now we've got the opposite problem, haven't we."

He'd meant it to sound light, but she turned a wary stare in his direction.

" _You_ said a lot, the night before last," she reminded him in a quivering almost-whisper.

" _Did_ a lot, this morning…" he added with a flush.

"That was-" she paused to lower the octave of her voice "-I can't believe we did that."

"It was your idea," he reminded her.

"And did you _mind_?" she bit back, but there was a teasing tone there, too, buried in blushing embarrassment.

"Fuck, no."

He pictured her face in hazy blue light again, and he wanted to properly express how bloody incredible it had been - no, literally the best few moments of his life. But he reckoned that was a bit direct, particularly after all he'd said two nights before. He didn't want to ever go too far.

"I think I'll have that tea, after all," she hinted, and he wondered if she just wanted to break the tension or briefly get rid of him so she could be alone, unable to talk about this topic anymore and not sure how else to end it.

"Yeah, sure." He got up and headed for the kitchen, not looking back.

* * *

"Shit…" he muttered, whirring past staticky Wireless stations with no luck.

The wind was howling outside, suggesting another bloody storm approaching, and it was already quite dark after their meager supper. Ron was sprawled out on the floor, and Hermione had vanished to the bedroom some time ago in a muttering trance about some bit of obscure Wizarding history she'd recalled. Harry was lifelessly doing the washing in the kitchen, and the occasional sound of a plate clanking against another one was the only thing that aggressively broke the grating noise of Ron's Potterwatch attempts and his slurred curses at his failure.

"Ron?" Hermione called to him, from out of sight.

He abandoned his futile efforts and dragged himself up to see what she needed.

"Yeah?" he answered, as he appeared in the open flap to the bedroom, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the sturdy tent post to his left, staring down at where she was sitting cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by books and parchment. A typical evening, then.

She glanced up at him.

"Where's that Patronus list?"

"Oh. Stuck inside your Hogwarts, A History, last I saw it."

She distractedly picked her up wand, swished it, and the book in question zoomed by so close to Ron's head that it ruffled his hair on the right.

"Oi! Watch it!"

"Sorry," she muttered vaguely as the book plopped down on the bed in front of her.

He watched her for a second, locating the list and running through it, her ink-stained fingertip darting left to right across the page.

"Hermione…"

"Hm?"

"I know this is mad, and I should probably forget it, but what if Dumbl-"

"Stop." She glanced warily up at him, then returned to the list without missing a beat. He knew he was grasping at this ridiculous possibility because the idea of Dumbledore having managed to fake his own death _or_ somehow come back to life would have given them all so much hope.

When had he developed the annoying need to be so carelessly optimistic?

"Yeah, I know," he conceded. "But what if-"

"I don't even want to think about that, because it's not possible."

"Stranger things have happened to us, y'know," he pointed out.

She shook her head, largely ignoring him.

From the sitting room, the Wireless buzzed loudly on a particularly distorted channel, then fell back to white noise again.

"I'll go help Harry with the washing then, unless you need me-"

She shook her head again, lost in thought, and he turned away.

* * *

"Harry's started first watch," Hermione said quietly, hovering at the open loo flap as Ron brushed his teeth, two hours later.

He made a muffled noise of affirmation as she stepped closer, reaching past him for her own toothbrush. He moved over to give her sink space.

At first, it was nothing, his reflection next to hers in a rusted mirror. But then she caught his eye, and something as mundane as brushing their teeth together felt wonderfully _normal_. He smiled awkwardly, then nudged her playfully with his hip so he could duck and spit and rinse. She pushed back against him so her leg was touching his.

Still vaguely smiling, he reached for a hand towel and wiped his face, then watched as she leaned forward whilst trying and failing to hold all her hair back, an action which seemed so familiar to her and so foreign to him. She constantly had to account for her hair, or her height, or any number of other things he never had to consider.

"Here," he said, offering her his towel as she stood up straight again and replaced her toothbrush in the chipped cup on the sink.

"Thanks." She took it with a shy glance, drying her mouth. "Are you tired?"

He shrugged. "You've got second watch though, haven't you? Reckon you should sleep."

She absently handed the towel back to him, but he just dropped it to the sink to follow her toward her bed. Somewhere during the short walk, his heart had apparently lodged in his throat, and every one of his scattered thoughts had converged on one very specific topic. He couldn't bring it up. How the hell could he-

She nervously took his hand and pulled him down into bed with her.

Alright, so she must not have been regretting what they'd done that morning _too_ much, or she wouldn't have been touching him, scooting up quite close to his chest with a thin blanket loosely draped over their waists.

The last time he'd looked at her this close up, he'd had his hand down his pants. He cleared his throat and fought a blush.

"I don't want everything to be awkward between us now," she said timidly.

"Is it?"

"I don't know. I can't tell yet."

"Have you been thinking about it-"

"All day? Yes."

He licked his lips, and she glanced at his mouth.

"I know we probably shouldn't _talk_ about it much," he started, "but… I wouldn't say no, if you wanted to do it again." She laughed as he grinned at her.

"Well. I wouldn't, either."

He stared at her for a long, charged moment.

"Fuck. I might have to get out of bed again." He was only half joking.

"Why?"

He very slightly narrowed his eyes at her. "Guess."

She looked incredibly flustered for a second, then seemed to pull herself together.

"Twice in one day?"

"Uh, yeah. Haven't you?"

"I'm not answering that," she said, softly giggling.

"Right," he grinned back.

He really tried not to think too much about it, but she was looking at him like she never wanted to stop...

"I think we're okay, then," she pointed out, sliding her bare toes down his shin.

He vaguely hummed his agreement and lightly rested his hand on her hip. She leaned into him immediately, gently pushing him to his back and tucking her head against his collarbone. His arm wrapped around her back, tips of his fingers touching the strip of bare skin between her vest and pyjama trousers.

He waited too long to speak again, thinking she must have fallen asleep by the way her breathing had deepened, back rising and falling slowly along his forearm. He'd just shut his eyes, letting vivid memories of her cheek pressed to the blanket on the ground at dawn wash over him, when she slid her hand across his stomach, dancing her cool fingers over his knuckles before going still and silent again.


	23. Chapter 23

She was gone when he woke up. He had expected to feel her leaving - she'd slept on the inside of the bed - but she must have moved very slowly or else he'd just been too deeply unconscious to notice.

He yawned and stretched as he got up… freezing immediately.

Standing between the bunks and Hermione's camp bed, he was just tall enough to come face to face with Harry… where he was sitting in his upper bunk, very much awake.

"Uh, hey, mate."

Harry wasn't wearing his glasses, but he acknowledged Ron with a sort of half-hearted nod.

"What d'you want for breakfast?" Ron asked with exaggerated cheerfulness. There really was no way anyone could pretend Ron hadn't just climbed out of Hermione's bed. Sod it.

"Bacon, eggs, toast," Harry listed off, "and what about some of those chocolate croissants your mum makes?"

"You got it," Ron laughed, turning his uncomfortably warm face away to make an escape and rummage the kitchen for over-ripened berries and half a tin of stale oats.

On the one hand, this had been going on for weeks (bloody hell, really?!), and Ron had already both suspected _and_ mentioned to Hermione that Harry probably knew about it. But, on the other hand, he hadn't actually faced Harry directly about it, and now he really couldn't hope to pretend like it was simply a comforting secret between them- oh, why did he even bother? They'd wanked in front of each other, twenty-four hours ago.

A strangled groan choked him for a second before he shook himself and set a saucepan of water to boil.

Hermione must have heard him moving about from outside. She walked through the tent entrance toward the kitchen, holding an empty tea cup and looking mildly dazed.

"What are you making?" she asked as she approached him.

"Porridge, again," he shrugged, "unless you've got a better idea."

"No, I haven't."

He thought of telling her about Harry, but then he recalled how unaffected she'd been the last time he'd mentioned, so he figured there wasn't any point. As if summoned by thought, Harry emerged and joined them, slumping down at the table.

"I'm bringing down the wards to go for a walk," he announced.

"Why?" Ron asked over his shoulder, as he stirred their breakfast. Hermione leaned against the counter beside him, looking displeased.

"Weather's still alright, miraculously, and I just need a change of scenery."

"We spent half the day yesterday outside," Ron reminded him, trying to softly dissuade him.

"And I want to spend half of today doing the same."

Hermione glanced sideways at Ron just before he suggested, "I'll go with you."

"You should stay here," Harry countered.

"Why?" He turned to fully face Harry then, loosely crossing his arms and leaning back against the edge of the stove.

Harry glanced oddly between Ron and Hermione, which prompted them to glance unconsciously at each other.

"Thought I'd leave you alone for a bit," Harry explained slowly, testing the waters.

Hermione softly cleared her throat.

"Mate," Ron started, "we're all _together_ out here because it's safer, yeah?"

"Yes, Harry," Hermione agreed with a hint of shrillness to her voice. "You can't go wandering about on your own. We've never gone outside the wards alone."

"Ron did, when he went to the Muggle baker's," Harry reminded them with a teasing smile, but Hermione's tense stance seemed to make him think better of having brought it up.

"Yes, well," Hermione sniffed, "he shouldn't have."

"I won't go far," Harry countered. "Just down the hill a bit, along that stream-"

"I'm still going with you," Ron cut in, turning back to his cooking. He could feel both Harry and Hermione's eyes on him, but they said nothing else just then, and Hermione finally left the room with a soft sigh.

* * *

"I _should_ go with him, shouldn't I?" Ron whispered to Hermione, after breakfast, whilst she was busying herself with folding clean clothes and making her bed.

"We can't let him go alone…"

"Right."

He scratched the side of his face with a pang of guilty selfishness. If Harry _had_ left them by themselves…

Whatever could have happened in that scenario wasn't worth thinking of for another second. He'd never let Harry risk his safety for an hour alone with Hermione.

"He's in the loo getting dressed. Reckon we'll leave when he comes out."

Hermione nodded, still folding. He blinked at her.

"What?" he asked her profile.

"I know he's just bored and irritated, but I don't like him thinking he should leave us."

"He doesn't, really. He… well, he saw me getting up from your bed this morning. But he didn't seem at all uncomfortable about it. Reckon it's just an excuse to get away for a bit."

"You mean he thought we might go for it better if he said it that way?"

"Dunno."

She sat on the edge of her bed and looked up at him.

"At first, when he suggested it, I was a bit angry he'd be so careless," she said. "But then I started thinking how nice it would be if we really _could_ be alone like that. Just for a bit. _Oh_ , that's a terrible thing for me to think!"

"No, it's not. I thought it, too. But we can't, and it's fine. We've managed anyway, yeah?"

She nodded with a small smile, and he ruffled his hair before picking up a pair of jeans from the foot of his bed. He rested his shoulder against Harry's upper bunk, waiting.

"What are you doing?" she asked, quizzically.

"Waiting for Harry to finish with the loo so I can change."

"Oh. Well." She tucked a tangle of curls behind her ear. "You don't _have_ to wait for him."

He scratched the back of his neck.

"I know what I said before, about… well, when you changed your clothes by my bed, but it's different now. We've… been in the bath together, and you've slept in only your pants." Her cheeks blazed a lovely shade of pink.

A soft laugh escaped through his nose.

"Oh!" she suddenly announced, looking sheepish. "I'm sorry. I should have suggested… I can leave."

"Nah, it's fine," he shrugged, wondering why something so normal seeming a few weeks ago was suddenly making him feel so ridiculously self-conscious. Not to mention that after what they'd done the previous morning, it should be literally nothing to strip off his pyjamas, with her watching.

So then he stripped off his pyjamas, with her watching.

If she'd wanted to seem casual at all about him doing this, she must have abandoned logic when he actually started doing it, because she wasn't just watching, really. She was staring.

He hastily kicked his pyjama trousers away, then reached over his shoulder to take off his shirt. He could have probably foregone that step since his shirt was still fairly clean, but - oh, God, did he _like_ this attention?!

He tossed the shirt to the floor, then started working his jeans up his long legs, jumping to pull them up to his waist. Her gaze roamed from his belt, as he fastened it, to his bare chest, with a final flick up to his face.

"Have I got a clean shirt, on your bed?" he asked in a gruff sort of voice that didn't quite sound like him.

She twitched, as if he'd startled her out of some sort of trance, then quickly overcorrected and sorted through the folded laundry next to her.

"Here." She stood to hand it to him, which was somewhat unnecessary but brought her very, _very_ close to his naked chest.

He really wanted to touch her… but, for some reason, they seemed to have reverted back just then to doing things that could have been marginally passed off as normal between friends, whilst both clearly realising it was actually just an excuse to cross a line.

He took the shirt from her and fucking _drank in_ the way her fingers touched his for several seconds longer than was sensible.

He could hear Harry walking out of the bathroom, so he pulled his shirt on over his head, regrettably.

"D'you have to change, too?" he teased, raising a hopeful brow at Hermione.

She laughed and shook her head, but then she seemed to be preparing her next words, very carefully. "Not now, but I will, _later tonight_ …"

She quickly looked away from him and busied herself with finishing her folding, leaving him to escape, dazed. And he had to correct himself… Hermione promising to strip in front of him later that night (and _oh my God_ , what they'd done the precious morning, it kept reoccurring to him) was _way_ over the old line they'd been pushing further and further out for years.

* * *

Their boots crunched leaves at clashing intervals as they trudged along the edge of the creek. They'd left the tent quite a ways behind, and Ron had automatically triple checked his pocket for his wand as soon as they'd passed the treeline.

"Did you actually just want to get away from us?" he asked Harry, but his tone was lighthearted. It wouldn't be surprising if he had.

"What? No. Sorry," Harry answered quickly. "Just starting to wonder if this is what the rest of our lives will be like - eating wild plants every day and staring off into the woods every night."

"Come on. We won't be here forever."

"Yeah…" Harry sounded dismissive enough that Ron let the topic go.

As they continued their walk, the sky dulled from a distant, mildly ominous gray to a sort of all-encompassing overcast, muting the sparse bits of colour that popped up here and there amongst the wintery plants and dead leaves. Slowly, Ron felt periodic sizzles of cold on his skin, eventually comprehending that it was snowing. But it wasn't the sort that had made them huddle inside before, desperate for warmth or the end of a cycle of weather that had reflected their collective mood too accurately. This was a silent, calming fall, flakes fluttering to the ground with increasing frequency, dusting the earth in soft, pure white.

Eventually, they stopped moving forward, in unspoken agreement that they'd gone far enough. They stood looking out over the valley below, huddling just a little closer together from the cold. And when at last they turned to head back, the snow had stopped falling, thin patches already melting on the ground, leaving no trace.

* * *

Hermione was staring over at the tent entrance, from the sofa, as they stepped back inside. Evidently, she'd heard them approaching.

"Oh, good, you're back," she said, with badly concealed relief. "I wanted to take a bath but not while the wards were down."

"Go on. We'll work on food," Ron suggested. "We're nearly out of everything but bloody mushrooms…"

"I'll get the maps out later and see if we can come up with another plan…" Hermione nearly winced on the word as she stood and headed for the bathroom… as if arbitrarily selecting a location to move to could be considered a real _plan_.

"Hermione," Ron called after her retreating back, "have you got enough _soap_?"

She turned halfway to glance at him, and her briefly widened eyes met his as he gave her a wavering half-smile.

"Yes, I think I'll manage," she said, voice shaking just enough for _him_ to pick up on it and for Harry to... not.

"Right," he concluded, and she disappeared.

"Why the sudden concern about soap?" Harry asked, somewhat distractedly.

"You wouldn't wanna take a bath without it, would you?" Ron answered, hiding a grin.

"Uh… no, guess not."

* * *

The maps were everywhere.

There was a cluster of Muggle villages in northern Scotland where they reckoned they'd pass undetected and potentially be able to purchase more food. Otherwise, there were private farms they could nick from, though Ron knew Hermione preferred they didn't do that. Either way, they'd be giving up moderately better weather if they traveled north again. It was a tough decision when nothing seemed strikingly better than anything else. But considering they had no immediate needs aside from replenishing supplies and potentially stumbling onto new information, it was as good a plan as any to relocate the next morning.

The brief snow from earlier had shifted to a light rain by nightfall, and their daily routine of waking, eating a meager portion of whatever they had left, foraging, then researching in relative silence was droning on, as if they somehow lived in a recurring dream.

"Anybody need the loo?" Harry asked with a stifled yawn. "I think I'll have a shower."

Hermione exchanged a curious look with Ron and he shook his head, so Harry left them alone at the kitchen table.

"I'd forgotten you have first watch," Hermione said quietly, staring down at the mess of books and parchment between them. "I should get ready for bed."

She glanced up at him, and he didn't need to recall what she'd said to him that morning, because he'd already been thinking about it, all day.

She got up, and he took a little bit too long to follow her, wondering, as he always did, if he'd misunderstood her. But the moment he crossed through the flap into their bedroom, she turned around to face him, hands shaking slightly as she reached for the hem of her jumper and vest, together… and pulled them off over her head.

She was wearing a simple blue bra, a lovely colour against her skin. A lantern was lit by her bed, and he could see her so much better than he'd been able to when she'd done this before, in bed with him. It wouldn't have mattered anyway, because he imagined he'd _always_ feel this way when he saw her. Overwhelmed and mesmerised by how perfect she was to him.

"God, you're beautiful," he slurred, hardly realising what he was saying and certainly unable to stop himself.

A conflicted look of doubt, fear, and appreciation crossed her face. Surprisingly, he could read all three quite easily, and he supposed he understood. He wasn't really supposed to be so unguarded with his words when she wasn't prepared… when she hadn't asked him for them. But he couldn't watch her do this and stay completely calm and in control. It was hard enough to be next to her every day, almost all day long, and not-

She shivered and tensed slightly, gaze flicking up to meet his eyes and then away again, quickly. Her still-shaking hands went for the button of her jeans. He wanted to sit on her bed as she had done with him that morning, but he wasn't really sure he could move. So, he remained standing half a metre away from her as she unzipped her jeans and tugged them down her legs to the floor.

His eyes blazed a path from her shins, up her bare legs. More leg than he had ever seen. Past her white knickers to her belly button.

He attempted to swallow, his throat having gone quite dry.

"C-Could you hand me a vest, from my bed?" she asked hoarsely.

It didn't matter that she could have reached it as well as he could, and maybe this was how she'd felt this morning when he'd asked her for a shirt. He toppled a pile of folded clothes in his attempt to find what she needed, eventually locating a white vest and standing back up to hand it to her.

"Thank you," she whispered, then she turned around to face away from him. For a second, he had no idea what was happening. Until she looped her vest over Harry's upper bunk… and reached behind her back to unclasp her bra.

He was pretty sure he'd let out an involuntary, strangled sound, and he could acutely feel his heartbeat and the heat of his blood rising furiously up his neck to his ears.

"Hermione," he breathed out, as she dropped her bra to the floor.

"Come closer?" she whispered with an unmistakable waver to her voice, shocking him motionless for too long.

Finally, he took two small steps until his chest was so close to her naked back that he thought he could feel the heat of her body, even through his jumper. His fingers ached to touch her, and he moved his right hand so slowly toward her hip until his fingertips just barely came into contact with her skin. She gasped and flinched, surprised, and he was ready to pull away… but then she leaned back into him, her shoulders resting on his chest.

She was very noticeably shaking against him, and he moved faster this time, smoothing his hand over her hipbone and across her stomach, eyes nearly fluttering shut. Her skin was perfect, so bloody perfect. And he was trapped. He couldn't do all the things he wanted to do. Even if she wanted him to do them.

"Just… just hold me, for a minute," she requested in the tiniest, most beautifully faltering voice, understanding his conflict without the need to explain.

His left arm joined his right, wrapping around her waist as he laid his cheek on top of her head.

As they breathed, together, he felt her body relax into him and her head fall back a bit against his sternum. He closed his eyes, letting the muffled rushing sounds from Harry's shower reassure him that they were alone.

He could have stayed there all night, his heart beating against her back and his hands on her warm skin. But, much too soon, the shower shut off and they were surrounded by piercing silence. He let go of her and took a step backward.

She reached for her vest and quickly put it on, then turned toward her bed without looking at him to find her pyjama trousers, mechanically pulling them up her legs and combing her fingers through her hair, flipping it over her shoulders.

"I should go," he suggested, with an apologetic wince.

"You should," she agreed, looking up at him then with a sad smile. He nodded, ran a hand across his jaw, and left.

* * *

Hours later, he was wet and cold and exhausted, and the memory of holding her almost naked body was like a bittersweet beacon, pulling him through the night but giving him more reasons to despise their situation, at the same time. He'd been keeping himself together, determined to be a positive support for the other two after how he'd abandoned them. But sometimes, alone, discouragement caught up to him, and he just wanted to take them home.

But then they had never actually thought this would be easy. Had there been some small part of him that _had_ suspected it would fall together as simply as it seemed to have done for them, before? Yet the days were so much longer here, full of nothing but monotony, hunger, and shivering cold. He _should_ have known, as he'd thought he'd always done. He should have been stronger.

He could only do it right, now. No going back.

It was easier when she was with him, when he wasn't hours into the night with only his own thoughts and a howling, distant wind for company. He craved sleep, the kind he only got with her, and never enough of it.

He thought of Harry, burdened by his connection with You-Know-Who and just as tired, angry and frustrated. More so, he reckoned, but buried deeper. And as much as he wanted to fast forward, find the end of the journey and win, there was something in the waiting, too, something safe. As long as they were out there, together, they weren't fighting. They weren't facing it. These days were numbered, surely, and it was not as Harry had cynically said hours earlier - this pause was not forever. Take it in, breathe. Maybe these were the last real days they'd be together, and-

He roughly sniffed and killed his spiralling thoughts before they could grow.

Strangely, he actually missed her, metres away inside the tent and sleeping. He shook his head at himself, tucking up his knees and resting his forearms across them, willing his focus back on their surroundings and his vigil. Soon. This would all be over soon.

* * *

He was nearly a sleepwalker, shuffling through the tent flap toward bed, momentarily reluctant to leave Harry outside alone for some inexplicable reason but coaxed into logic by Harry's dismissal and his own lack of consciousness. Minutes more, and he'd have been useless.

He was pleased to see she _was_ actually asleep, tugging off his jeans and leaving them heaped on the floor, foregoing even a thought for pyjamas and collapsing next to her in his pants and shirt. He shimmied under her blanket, encountering wonderful warmth from hours of her radiating body heat. His nose brushed her thick hair as he closed his eyes, and he hadn't thought he'd wake her, but she moved backward, just enough to slide her legs fully against his, sighing.

"Alright?" she asked, in a sleep-drugged voice.

"Mm," he offered as his answer, dropping his hand to her hip.

"Harry?"

"Yeah. He's outside," he mumbled, to the back of her head. "The rain's stopped."

"I was having a dream," she continued, in that barely conscious voice, "about revising for final exams, at Hogwarts."

He opened his eyes and laughed lightly, absentmindedly trailing his fingers up her side.

"Nightmare, was it?"

"No. But I couldn't convince you and Harry to take it seriously."

"Regular term at school, then," he teased, smiling.

He felt her laugh lightly, and a brief silence passed before she asked, "Do you think we're doing the right thing, moving tomorrow?"

"Sure." His hand stilled on her hip again. "If we can't find better food, we can always come back here for more of those bloody mushrooms."

"I don't like all this guessing," she sighed.

"Guessing _did_ get Harry and I through those exams we wouldn't properly revise for…"

"You never give yourself enough credit," she scolded, running her toes briefly up his bare shin. "You passed because you're smarter than you think, and you have a good memory for little things."

He quirked an eyebrow she couldn't see. "I do?"

"You've remembered my birthday, every year, after I only told you it once."

"Well, yeah. I _can_ remember the really important stuff…"

She rolled toward him, her shoulder pressing against his chest and his hand sliding to her stomach until she was on her back, turning her head to stare through the dark at his sleepy eyes. They were so dangerously close together, he could have kissed her nose by just lifting his chin an inch-

"I don't know why it's always been so hard for me to let you know I think you're…" Ironically, considering her half-finished statement, she seemed yet again choked by whatever word she'd wanted to say at the end. He vividly recalled what she _had_ said, several weeks ago, how she thought he was worth quite a bit more than he thought of himself, how she didn't want him to change.

But then he considered, again, the years he'd spent hiding his own feelings and taking it out on her, instead.

"I wasn't any better," he reminded her, letting her off the hook from completing her sentence.

"Not too sure about that… _I_ knew you didn't fancy Harry." She managed to keep a straight face til he laughed, and her lips wavered on a grin.

"Maybe I do," he countered, and she turned the rest of the way onto her side to fully face him, adorably trying to raise a brow and mostly failing.

"Have you been sleeping in Harry's bed, whilst I've been out on watch?" she whispered, with stifled laughter.

"What if I have?"

"I'd have to fight him."

"My two best mates, duelling over me."

Her expression softened for a second, and whatever she might have said next to continue their banter seemed to fade slowly away.

"What?" he pried.

"Mates," she said, so quietly, hardly even a whisper.

"I'll make it easier," he continued, in his own hushed voice, feeling his heart lodge in his throat at what he knew she was doing. "I'll tell Harry to sod off, 'cause I'm yours."

"Don't," she sighed, lowering her gaze from his face. "You don't… have to say that…"

He knew what she meant, that of course this wasn't just a joke about Harry. It was the rest, his confession that wasn't really a confession at all. How long had he belonged to her? Too long to bother reckoning.

"I _know_ ," she added, with the tiniest hint of a smile, and his thumb slid under the bottom edge of her vest.

It wasn't just reassurance, then, and maybe this was the first time he'd felt totally secure that she truly understood all those unspoken words and how much this meant to him. He wasn't quite sure if the soap was to blame or something else, but he smiled back, and she leaned closer into him, eyes fluttering shut.

He watched her breathing slow, felt her feet shuffle between his legs, a comfortably familiar thing, and his hand flattened to the bare skin of her side, fully under her vest. And somewhere between his heart pounding for more and the warring tug of exhaustion, he felt a surprising relief that they were still out there in the wilderness, still directionless for now, still lost with each other.


	24. Chapter 24

_**A/N:**_ _Hand-covering-mouth and chest-to-back dedicated to my napchic, who wrote my favorite fic of all time and burned thousands of images of its perfection forever inside my mind. x_

* * *

They woke just past dawn and blearily got out of bed to begin organising for their departure. They'd inventoried their supplies and discovered they had enough foraged food for two more days on current rations, just enough to either find a new suitable place to buy from, nick from, or give up and come back to the mushrooms.

Once important belongings were secured and Hermione's beaded bag was packed, they began dressing for the anticipated colder weather. Ron wordlessly handed Hermione one of his jumpers as he was layering his own, and she smiled gratefully, pulling it on over her other two. She added her cloak, wrapped an extra scarf around her neck, and nodded at Harry and Ron.

"Alright. Let's go."

* * *

The air was deadly still when they arrived in an overcast meadow, a fair distance north from any of their previous hideouts. Hermione said they could have seen the coast, if they'd walked a mile farther, but they turned west, instead, making for the closest treeline through the greyish green landscape, muted by the blank canvas of a fully cloud-covered sky.

None of them spoke again until they were under barren tree cover, a sort of eerie silence making Ron's heart beat just a little bit faster.

"The village must be on the other side of these trees," Hermione speculated, as they stopped to make camp.

"I can see the edge of the woods from here," Ron pointed out, dropping his rucksack. "Have you got those what's-its from before, with the lenses where you can see far off-"

"Binoculars?" she smiled, clearly amused.

"Yeah, yeah, them," he chuckled back. "What? You're the one who said I was good at remembering things."

"I may have misspoken," she teased.

"Well. Give 'em here, and I'll go have a look while you and Harry get the tent set up."

A flash of fear crossed her face. "But-"

"You'll literally be able to see me from here, and we haven't got the wards up yet anyway. I'll be back in five minutes."

She stared at him for a lingering second before giving in. "Five minutes," she repeated, reluctantly reaching into her bag for the binoculars and handing them to him.

"Cheers," he said, brushing his fingertips across her hand as he walked away.

* * *

It turned out to be a bit farther off than he'd reckoned, but he could still hear Harry and Hermione chattering away about where to place the tent until he'd nearly reached the edge of the woods. It was a flat bit of land, even beyond their swath of forest, and he could make out a cluster of slate roofs along a dirt path if he squinted.

He crouched and held the binoculars to his eyes, surveying. He could find no signs of activity, though a barn and chicken coop on the opposite side of the road caught his attention. Alright, at least they could steal more eggs if he could convince Hermione. His stomach grumbled with insistent anticipation.

He lowered the binoculars and glanced around again, noting patches of snow still frozen here and there. He hunched his shoulders slightly, tips of his ears already a bit numb. It was early yet. Perhaps the weather would turn, though the clouds suggested it would happen in the wrong direction. And if one of the buildings he could see was a shop that simply hadn't opened yet for the day, they might be able to buy a few things. He chewed his chapped bottom lip for a moment in contemplation. What kind of a cover story would they need? What reason would they have to be out here, in the middle of bloody nowhere?

He turned to head back and consult the other two. By the time he reached them, they were standing outside the already assembled tent, watching his approach.

"What'd you see?" Harry inquired, as Hermione shivered next him.

"There's a barn and a chicken coop," Ron relayed, and Harry nodded his approval. "Can't tell about the rest. Nobody's out just yet."

"H-How many buildings?" Hermione asked.

"Five, I think. It's really not much. Got a dirt path going through, instead of a proper road."

Hermione's brow furrowed with contemplative stress.

"Let's go inside," Harry suggested. "We'll have to wait anyway, if no one's around."

"Unless we nick some eggs," Ron said slowly, gaze darting toward Hermione as she tutted and turned to lead them inside the tent, but Harry paused with Ron at the entrance.

"If there's a way to get food without speaking to anyone," Harry started quietly, so only Ron could hear him, "that's what we should do."

"Yeah, we'll convince her," Ron agreed. "She's still got that Muggle money to leave behind."

Hermione perched on the edge of the sofa as Ron and Harry joined her.

"We could try someplace else," she suggested, weakly.

"Give it a few hours," Harry shrugged. "You think we could manage a fire here?"

"No," Hermione answered immediately, almost before the question was fully voiced. "I'm not sure if the wards would hold the smoke, and we'll easily be seen this close to the town if they don't."

Harry sighed and leaned back heavily on the sofa, staring up at the canvas ceiling.

"What should we do in the meantime?" Ron asked, scratching his jaw through his beard.

"If we put the wards up now, we could nap at least," Harry suggested, more out of boredom than exhaustion, Ron assumed, though the dark circles under Harry's eyes _were_ quite prominent.

"I can do that," Ron suggested, honestly just for _something_ to do, but Hermione got up with him.

"I'll help."

* * *

By the time they'd finished, Harry _was_ actually asleep, but Hermione seemed too preoccupied by the cold to either go to bed or open her books. She sat back on the sofa, hugging her arms across her body.

"Extra jumper's not helping?" Ron asked, sitting beside her and rubbing his gloved hands together.

"It is, thank you," she said hoarsely, as if she could barely muster the energy to form a full sentence.

Clearly, it wasn't helping _enough_. He raised his wand and aimed it toward the bedroom.

"Accio blankets."

A pause, and several came zooming toward him.

"Oi!" Harry shouted sleepily, from bed, and Ron laughed as Hermione bit her smiling bottom lip.

"Sorry, mate!"

Ron tucked Harry's blanket under his arm and got up to return it.

"What was that?" Harry asked, glasses off and hair mussed from sleep.

Ron handed the blanket up to Harry's bunk and shrugged. "Laziness."

"Right…" Harry flopped back down and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, already drifting back.

As Ron returned to the sitting room, he encountered Hermione now sitting on the floor in front of the sofa and cuddling up hilariously under the remaining blankets, all gathered around her like a nest.

"Cozy?" he asked with a grin.

Her half shrug was interrupted by another shiver, and Ron toed off his boots.

"Got room for one more in there?" he asked as he sat on the floor beside her. She nodded and he burrowed his way under layers of wool until he found her jumper-padded arm, resting his head on her shoulder, his mismatched, sock-covered feet sticking out the bottom of the blankets.

"I p-planned so poorly, Ron," she said with a sad shake of her head. "I can't believe I didn't p-pack more food when we left for the Ministry break-in."

"You thought we were coming right back," he rationalised, but she sighed.

"It doesn't matter, does it. We have to be prepared for anything, for any d-day being the last we might have in the same place, the last we might have with anything to eat if we don't plan right."

"Nah, can't plan _that_ much." He shifted his head on her shoulder, arms tucked across his chest. "What's prob'ly rubbish is me and Harry both acting like you're supposed to know everything. You usually _do_ know everything, but still…"

She laughed lightly and tipped her cheek against the top of his head.

"I don't like stealing," she added after a pause.

"We'll leave the Muggle money again."

"I still don't like it."

"I know. So stay here. Maybe I'll even take Harry with me if he keeps under the cloak the whole time."

"It doesn't bother you?"

He cleared his throat and shifted his legs closer to hers.

"What? Nicking eggs? Not really…"

"Honestly?"

"No, can't say it does…"

"Well," she huffed, but she didn't move away, "it should."

"The Muggles aren't gonna starve 'cause we took a dozen eggs, are they. But _we_ might, if we don't."

"We won't starve…" she said fretfully, and he turned his body further toward hers to drape an arm over her waist.

"Mm, we won't," he agreed with a muffled hum against her shoulder.

She slowly reached for his hand, fingertips dancing over the leather of his fingerless keeper's gloves.

"Are these warm?" she asked, sliding her fingers across his knuckles.

"Eh, they're alright."

"You know…" but then she paused for too long, and he finally lifted his head to look at her flushing profile.

"What?"

She shook her head dismissively, but curiosity gripped him, and he sat fully up, dragging his hand across her stomach.

"What?" he asked again.

She licked her chapped bottom lip and took a shallow breath.

"I packed them because I like the way they look on you."

One of his eyebrows arched up, and he lifted his hand from their blanket cocoon to examine it. She glanced sideways at him.

"Oi," he grinned, recalling something, "is this the same reason you packed the tight jeans?"

"No!" she shouted indignantly, eyes going wide. "How was I supposed to know you'd outgrown them? They're jeans! I can't tell the diff-"

He covered her mouth with his gloved hand.

"You'll wake Harry," he laughed, and she closed her eyes.

He let go almost immediately, but she reached up to take his hand in both of hers. Her thumbs pressed to his palm as she examined him, worn leather to the second joints of his fingers where pale, freckled skin emerged.

"Your hand _is_ warm," she said in a vaguely dazed voice, and he tried to swallow, no longer laughing.

Half-mesmerised, he reached for the side of her neck, and her hands dropped away. He slid his leathered palm against her skin, underneath her hair, and her eyes fluttered shut again. She slumped fully back against the base of the sofa, and his hand trailed downward, thumb brushing a bit of bare collarbone just above the stacked necks of the multiple jumpers she was wearing.

He could have stayed there for such a long time, his bare thumb on her perfect skin, but he found himself leaning forward to bury his nose in the stormcloud of hair that had bunched over her ear, and she slid down further so she was lying on the rug. His fingers squeezed her arm gently and dragged all the way to her wrist, until he was lying on his side, next to her, blankets tangled at their waists and feet. She deeply breathed in, eyes still shut, and the action exposed the tiniest strip of flesh between jumpers and jeans.

His hand was inches away anyway, so it wasn't too much of a stretch to glide over, working slowly, heart-stoppingly, underneath layers to find bare, warm skin.

He fully flattened his gloved palm to her stomach.

"We won't see each other tonight," she breathed, almost a whisper, a reference to their opposing shifts on watch. "H-How long do you think Harry will sleep, right now?"

"Dunno," he said gravelly, a million thoughts about what she could want him to do suddenly racing through his mind. "A while," he added, deliriously.

"M-My jeans are all twisted…"

He froze, staring at her still-closed eyes. She shifted her legs and vaguely moved her hands toward the button-

"Do you mind-"

"No," he heard himself rasp out, more of a groan than a proper word.

She unbuttoned and unzipped with obviously shaking hands, lifting her hips to slide her jeans off with his hand still resting on her stomach. He seemed to only just realise this, and that he was impeding her progress, so he removed his hand, stunned and trying not to stare at her _pink cotton knickers_.

She pushed halfway up with a sigh of frustration as she tried to kick her jeans free to finally tangle in the mess of blankets half covering them.

A howl of likely frozen wind gusted past their tent, half muffling the tiny whimpering sound she made as she stretched out flat on her back, and he covered her bare stomach with his large hand again. Gooseflesh spread mesmerisingly from where he touched her.

"Won't you be cold now?" he asked with immediate regret, but she cracked open her eyes to look over at him.

"Maybe not… if you take yours off, too." She sounded nearly strangled, as if the words were fiercely difficult to string together.

He moved to do what she'd suggested before he could let himself deeply comprehend or overthink it. Denim pooled at their feet, and he turned onto his side, half hovering over her.

"Could I… borrow your right glove?" She blinked up at him.

"Yeah…" he said slowly, unsure where this was going. He removed it and handed it to her, and she slid it onto her own hand. "Bit big for you, innit," he smiled.

"Looks better on you," she concurred, and he lightly shook his head.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, and he could hardly decide where to look… her eyes, the curve of her small nose, her mouth...

"Do you want me to-" he started, already reaching up to touch her face with his left, still-gloved hand. His thumb brushed her chapped lower lip.

She didn't answer him, but he didn't need her to. The tips of his bare fingers skimmed back and forth across her cheeks, then down over her jaw. She _very slightl_ y arched her back as he moved further, but oh, he noticed. He held his breath and dragged his hand down over the centre of her chest, just feeling the shape of her breasts through so many jumper layers.

When he reached her bare stomach again, he paused… until she bent up her right leg, thigh coming so close to his wrist. Fuck it. He moved across a thin strip of knicker fabric at her hip, then over her bare thigh, and it was such a strange feeling to be separated by leather, only his exposed fingertips contacting her skin.

She reached across to hold his forearm in her own gloved hand, warmed leather over his jumper sleeve. As his fingers dug lightly into the side of her leg, she rolled inward, and his hand slid back, resting just below her arse. Her own gloved palm wrapped around the side of his neck, and she was staring at his parted lips.

"Okay. It's okay," he muttered nonspecifically, as her eyes seemed to be filing with tears. She shook her head and ignored him, pushing him over to his back, working her hand under his jumper, and half lying on top of him. Her bare stomach met his and his eyes briefly rolled shut as his hand moved up over her arse, apparently of its own accord.

He shoved his whole forearm under the back of her jumpers to keep himself from fully groping her arse, too focused on the feeling of her legs sliding against his, her knee bending between his thighs.

It might have startled him, had he realised in that moment, how little he cared where this was going, how he couldn't have even been bothered to speculate. She felt perfect, amazing, beautiful, he loved her, they were there, they were together. It was all he could think.

She leaned even further into him and pressed her lips to his neck.

" _I want you, I want you_ ," she slurred at barely a whisper. "I'm sssorry."

He quite suddenly registered wet tears on his neck, and she lifted her head, brow furrowed down at him as she locked on his lips again. She was sorry. She was sorry? She was going to-

"Hermione, _wait_."

A breath away from his mouth. So fucking close.

He moved so quickly, pushed her off his body and just caught a glimpse of her confused and nearly hurt expression before he flipped her all the way over, her back toward him. He shoved his hand up the back of her jumpers again to lift them higher as she gasped, and he pressed his bare stomach to her bare back.

Her whole body shuddered with shock, and he tucked his knees behind hers so they were thoroughly touching, all the way down, his very obvious erection hard against her arse. He moaned out his next breath.

She took his hand before he could move it where he'd meant to go, but she guided him there and further anyway, over her hipbone, across soft knicker fabric, til his fingertips were nestled between her thighs, clenched together.

"Fuck," he breathed into her thick curls.

He lightly squeezed her leg, clamping his eyes shut so tight.

He couldn't move. For a long moment, neither of them seemed capable. The angled joint of his thumb was so close to her knickers that… well. There was nothing to do. He'd gotten them both into _this_ now, hadn't he.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, in an entirely different tone of voice from before.

"It's fine," he rasped back. "God, you don't know how close I was to letting you."

"This is so hard," she whispered, and he pressed his lips together as he thought of something entirely different that she could be referencing…

Her arse shifted almost imperceptibly against his crotch.

"Maybe we just shouldn't be, y'know, looking at each other when we…" He trailed off without a clear word choice.

"Yes, you're right." Her voice was far too prim for someone who had a bloke's hand still trapped between her thighs… and he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to be right. "Can you hear Harry snoring?"

He winced. "No."

She breathed heavily for a few more seconds, her back expanding against his chest with each inhale. The wind howled again outside, sounding as frozen as he knew it would feel.

"You should… go soon," she suggested in a way that sounded physically painful, "before it starts raining or… or snowing."

He couldn't muster a response, but it was really then or never if he had any hope of reclaiming his hand and leaving the warmth of her body for the icy task he had to do now. He reluctantly slid his fingers out from between her legs, but she caught his hand and dragged it up to her mouth, pressing his exposed fingertips to her parted lips for just a second… another… before she let him go.

* * *

Nicking the eggs was the easy bit. Escaping back the way they'd come when a burly, thickly-bearded man emerged from the main house and began chopping firewood several metres away from their exit was the tricky part…

"Suppose you could grow your beard just like that?" Harry teased under his breath, mouth so close to Ron's left ear that the words could be felt nearly as much as they were heard.

"Shut up," Ron whispered back, double and triple checking their full cover under the invisibility cloak. "Walk slow. I'm too damn tall for this now."

They shuffled out from behind the chicken coop quite comically, Ron's knees bent and head ducked forward to keep his muddy boots hidden. It was desperately slow progress to clear the main barn and make a pass for the dirt road. And, even then, it seemed unwise to reveal themselves. They glanced at two boarded shop windows with disappointment as they walked by.

"Was hoping for a sweets shop," Ron muttered, only half joking, and Harry shook his head.

"I hardly remember what chocolate tastes like now."

"I'll never forget," Ron said solemnly, and he had to poke Harry hard in the ribs when he laughed too loudly.

Finally, they reached the treeline and carefully uncovered themselves. Ron awkwardly stretched his cramped back as Harry led the way with his wand raised cautiously, and Hermione brought the wards down as they approached, evidently having been waiting outside the tent for them.

"No problems," Ron assured her immediately, and she led them both inside.

She'd prepared steaming mugs of weak tea, which they gratefully drank as they handed off the rest of the Muggle money and a half full rucksack of eggs. She nodded once, silently taking them through to the kitchen, and Ron watched her go before settling on the sofa with the rest of his tea.

* * *

"Reckon the shops are all closed for the winter," Ron told her later that night, as she was layering clothing for her night watch.

"And you only saw one person?"

"Yeah, the bloke chopping wood by the barn."

"I'm glad Harry went," she sighed. "I think he does better when he can get outside."

"He shouldn't, if we move close to a bigger village."

"The dementors?"

"Wouldn't mention it to him again, but…"

She tied a third scarf around her neck and Ron sniffed, speculatively.

"Sure you won't freeze out there?" he asked her softly.

"No." She glanced up to meet his eyes. "But I've got a few more bluebell jars tonight. It'll be alright."

"Sit in the entrance by a lantern. It's warmer in here."

"But that would let the cold in."

"Harry and I can take it," he grinned lopsidedly. "I'll climb up in his bunk and give him a cuddle if it gets too bad."

She shoved his chest playfully, but he caught her gloved hand and squeezed it.

"Come and get me if-"

"I know," she smiled.

"Right."

She stared at him for a moment longer, pushed up onto her toes, and pressed her lips to his jaw. It was far too fleeting, but he'd recall the feeling on his bearded skin over and over, through the long night, even in his dreams.


End file.
